Seven Days
by Give-Me-Your-Coffee
Summary: In 3x01, Red originally planned for the two of them to stay in the safe room underground for a whole week...am I the only one who wanted to see how that would have played out? A slow burn, eventually M-Rated, Lizzington story.
1. Chapter One - Day one, Part one

Seven days.

They were going to spend seven days down in this hole together.

Red was in a tetchy mood, opening a bottle of wine, prattling on while she watched the vicious, slanderous lies flying across the tiny black and white television screen in front of her and tried not to scream. She hadn't really thought about what life on the run with Red might be like, and even though the plan to hide in this place until things died down made perfect sense and was exactly what they should be doing…Liz was somewhat taken aback by the gritty reality of it.

Red, of course, was perfectly at home wherever he wanted to be. He was sprawled across his tiny twin bed in his perfectly-fitted faux police uniform, shamelessly pouring glass after glass. And after awhile, she couldn't bear to keep watching the television, so she turned it off and practically chugged down the glass of wine he had originally poured for her, determined to catch up. Red was immediately on his feet with the bottle to offer her a refill. She gratefully accepted and he took the chair across the table from her.

They sat together, not speaking, each lost inside the miserable places of their minds, drawing from one another whatever weak solace the act of sharing a bottle of wine would afford them. Liz took a moment to observe her surroundings. Various supplies lined the shelves around them, including a pile of bleached white towels, neatly folded, which meant that there was likely a shower in the tiny bathroom in the alcove behind the metal stair-ladder. It was clean down here, and her bed felt comfortable enough when she sat on it. The blankets smelt faintly of detergent, and her pillow was plump and fluffy…the weary and slightly terrified bar owner above had obviously taken great care to make things as nice as he could for them. Liz felt a smile twitch across her face briefly…perhaps there was some merit to the things Red had said about being underground while the world tore itself apart above.

"It's not exactly up to the standard of some of my usual safe houses," Red muttered, and Liz realized he had noticed her looking around. "But I'm afraid it will have to do for now, Lizzie."

She shook her head at his implication. "It's great. I feel safe down here. Plus, there's wine…" she held out her empty glass. Red nodded in acknowledgement, tipping the last of the bottle into it with a gentlemanly flourish. "It's bigger than my college dorm room was," Liz added, taking a sip.

"With an infinitely more agreeable roommate," Red smirked. Liz smiled at him. Their eyes locked for a moment.

It was strange seeing Red like this, being with him like this. There was no blacklister to discuss, no fedora or three piece suit, no Cooper or Ressler to interrupt them, It was just Red, the man, sitting in front of her, and this time, she was the blacklister, the fugitive. This time, she was one of the criminals Red was helping.

A black hole of despair opened its gaping maw inside her gut. She was a fugitive, she was on the run, and the horror of it was threatening to overwhelm her.

She pulled away from the table for a minute, needing to breathe or scream—she wasn't sure which. Hot tears were boiling behind her eyes, but she clenched them shut and learned forward, putting her forehead almost to her knees and wrapping her arms around them. She clenched and held, breathing only in those few seconds it was safe—before the next wave of grief and guilt and fear washed over her.

Red was in his feet next to her in a second.

"It's going to be okay, Lizzie," he rumbled, immediately pressing his hand between her shoulder blades and making soothing circles. "You're doing so well…just take a breath."

She nodded as best as she could in the moment, and tried not to sob. It took a while, but when her panic attack subsided, she sat up and took a few deep breaths as Red observed and took them with her. She looked at him, locking her blue eyes with his, letting him see the full scale of her fear.

"Red, what are we going to do?" she whispered. "How are we going to fix this?"

"I know, I know," he sighed. "It's not going to be easy. But it's possible, sweetheart."

He knelt next to her put his hand on her knee and squeezed it. She put her hand over his and held it there, numbly.

"I don't see how," she muttered.

"We'll figure it out," he replied. "We have a head start and a wealth of resources at our disposal. It may take some time, but we can resolve this whole mess to our satisfaction…I'm sure of it."

"I shot Tom Connelly," she looked at him, unflinching as she said the words. "I shot him in cold blood. It wasn't even self-defense. Even you can't fix that."

"The man was a traitor and a terrorist. He deserved what he got," Red huffed. "We can prove that you were justified…"

"But I didn't do it for Justice!" she hissed, suddenly conscious of what anyone above might be overhearing. "I did it because I…wanted him dead." she whispered, leaning in so only Red could hear her. "He threatened all of you, explained exactly how he was going to ruin all of us, with extradition, torture, the death penalty for you…" she paused, shuddering at the thought, and took a breath, not noticing how intensely Red's eyes were fixed on her face. "He said it, and I knew it was true, that he would destroy all of us and get away with it, and so I killed him, because I'm a murderer and a terrorist…" Both she and Red flinched at those words. Red's grip on her knee tightened. "…And now I know for a fact that I've always been a killer…I killed my own father, I've gotten a bunch of other innocent people killed, I killed Tom Connolly, and that's just what I do now, apparently…fuck everything up and kill everyone," she hysterically whisper-sobbed.

Red sighed as she put face back into her lap, her body silently heaving and clenching in horror all over again. He stood again, swirling the remaining contents of his wine glass in one hand and circling his hand between Liz's shoulder blades in a vain attempt to calm her.

"You have every right to be scared," he reiterated. "And I know that sitting tight and waiting it out is the most difficult thing to do at a time like this, but I need you trust me. I will help you make this right."

He felt more than heard Liz snort in disbelief. He moved to one of the shelves and grabbed a roll of paper towel. Unwrapping it, Red tore off a few sheets and pressed them into her hands. She sat up and began to wipe her streaming eyes and blow her swollen nose. Red pursed his lips and pulled another bottle of wine off the shelf. He busied himself with opening it and gave Liz a chance to regain her composure.

He was on edge and miserable. He wished they'd been able to get away in a more expedited manner. Taking his jet would have been ideal if it had been an appropriate mode of travel for their destination. On the jet there were drinks, and spaces to move around in, and she could have some privacy if she wanted to scream and cry all she needed to. She had just been through a trauma, she was in shock, and unfortunately, there was nothing to do while stuck in this hide-away except think and worry…another small torture on top of everything else. And he could only sit there and attempt to talk her through it, hold her hand, and ignore the guilt gnawing away at his own gut that he was partly responsible for it all.

He poured her another glass of wine, which she accepted numbly, and sat down across from her again. The silence was palpable. Liz wiped away a few errant tears and sipped at her glass. Red stared at the wall, his mind working away.

She wasn't sure how long they sat like that together, but suddenly, the sound of combat boots on the floor above had Liz up and out of her seat in a panic. Red was instantly on his feet as well. He grabbed Liz's hand and pulled her quickly into the alcove behind the stairs, flicking off the lights on the wall switch as he did so.

They huddled together in the darkness, their eyes on the small cracks of light surrounding the door in the floor above. Liz heard Red unholster his gun, and she did the same. There were voices overhead, and suddenly the door to the closet above was thrown open, and the cracks of light around the entrance above them grew brighter.

Red reached back to push Liz into place behind him in the dark, blocking her from the line of sight of anyone descending into this tiny space with his body. Liz felt a sudden irrational wave of affection and gratitude to him…he was always protecting her, always keeping her safe, always putting himself at risk to spare her. She didn't deserve it, she thought, she was no longer worthy of protecting. But now wasn't the time to argue with him, or point out that she could defend herself. If Red was going to be her champion, so be it.

They both stiffened and froze at the sound of Agent Ressler's voice above. Liz could feel her heart beating in her throat. Neither of them were breathing. The tension was so thick, she was sure Ressler would sense it.

And then there were voices again. They heard Ressler order the team to move along, the sounds of many boots moving out the door, and silence again.

Liz breathed a sigh of relief and reached for Red in the dark. Her hand made contact with his back, and she immediately squeezed his shoulder, bracing herself in relief and offering a him moment to share it with her. Red did not relax under her grip, but he reached up with his free hand and covered hers.

The door above was suddenly thrown open, and lights turned on. Liz saw the bartender looking down at her.

"It's all clear," he said. "They were doing a sweep, but they didn't find anything."

"Let's keep it that way," Red growled up at him. Liz gave him a small chiding push from behind and moved around him and the stair-ladder to get a better view of their host.

"Thank you for your help," she added, sincerely. "I'm in your debt."

The bartender's eyes warmed on her for a moment, before they shifted over to Red, still bristled and menacing, and his expression sobered.

"You're welcome," he said, standing up. "You can come up if you want to later, just listen at this door before you come out."

"Thank you," Liz said again, offering him a conciliatory smile. He nodded in acknowledgement, then lifted the sink back into place and closed the panel above them.

Red moved out from behind the stairs and sat back down at the table to take another swig of his wine. Liz moved back over to join him, pretending she hadn't just been terrified for her life seconds before.

"Do you think it was really just a sweep?" she asked.

"Yes," Red replied. "They would have stayed longer otherwise, been more thorough, torn the place up a bit. Now they'll have to consider whether or not we've somehow managed to get past their blockades and outside of the perimeter they set up. They may be back to check again, however, soon. We should stay down here for a while."

With the prospect of so much empty time on their hands, Liz took a moment to check the shelves again. There were a few paperbacks and a deck of cards. She grabbed the cards and held them up enticingly. "Distraction?"

"Oh, yes please!"

They began to play as though they hadn't been scared for their lives and hiding in the dark just minutes before. There wasn't a card game that Red didn't know, of course, and Liz learned quickly that there was simply no point to trying to beat Red at a game of strategy. After her third loss, she suggested they try a game of speed. Liz knew how to play Snap in her sleep, but Red was just too quick. They were neck and neck, frantically casting their cards into the discard pile and flipping over new ones from the draw piles. Liz flipped over the eight of hearts, a card she'd been waiting for the last three rounds, and Red immediately reached out to steal it for himself. Liz smacked his hand away and grabbed the card quickly. Red chuckled and flipped over the next card. Within seconds he was empty-handed, slamming his last card down on the table in victory while Liz was still stuck with two cards still in hand.

"Unbelievable," she muttered, tossing them onto the table.

"Again?" he asked contritely.

"What's the point?" she huffed, petulantly. "I'm just going to keep embarrassing myself."

"Perhaps we could try something more your speed? Slap-Jack? Are you familiar with Fifty-Two Pickup?" His tone was even, but his eyes were mocking her viciously. She smiled and tried not to laugh. She let her gaze rest on Red's face, taking him in for a moment while he gathered and shuffled the cards expertly. He was always there for her. He was always going to be there for her. They were hiding in a room underground, on the run, the whole world crumbling around her, and here he was, playing games with her and making her laugh. There was literally no one else who could have done this for her…not even Tom.

Liz cringed internally for a moment, thinking of Tom. She had not even showered since the night before…had it really only been twenty-four hours? One day…that was all it took for everything to fall apart. Liz shook her head to stop fresh tears from forming.

Tom never would have made her feel this safe, never could have helped her and saved her the way Red had…not that he wouldn't have tried…but she didn't trust Tom the way she trusted Red. She couldn't rely on Tom the way she could rely on Red. Red had released the Fulcrum. Red had the connections and experience needed to make this whole thing work. Tom wasn't even Tom…and Liz knew deep down that she would never be able to make it work with Jacob…not with the memory of who they were and what they had been to one another chasing after them constantly. She had to move on. They had said goodbye, spent their last night together, and now it was time to move on.

Red was dealing their cards for another game of Snap. She took another gulp of wine from her glass and watched him, wondering how they were possibly going to keep this up for a whole week without going insane.

Red's clever hands deftly flicked cards to the correct places on the table and placed the leftover cards in the draw pile. He picked up his hand and looked over at her expectantly. There was suddenly a huge lump in her throat that she tried to swallow away as she picked up her cards, but it was no use. She put her cards down and allowed the tears stinging her eyes to finally escape.

"Breathe," Red commanded, reaching across the table for her hand.

"I know," she gasped. "It's just…" Her voice quavered and she clamped her lips together to prevent any other embarrassing sounds from escaping. She jumped up, swiping tears out of her eyes, and grabbed a towel and a washcloth from the shelf next to her. "I just really need to take a shower."

Red was on his feet too, handing her a black duffel bag.

"There are some basic toiletries and clean clothes in there, unless you still feel like playing dress up after," he motioned to her uniform.

"Thank you," she muttered, holding the bag in one hand and the towels in the other. She stood like that for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to do, before taking a step towards the small bathroom. Red moved out of her way, giving her a clear path, but she set the bag and the towels down on the table for a moment, and to his utter surprise, wrapped her arms around him.

"Thank you, Red," she whispered next to his ear. "Really…I'm so grateful and relieved…I don't know how I would have…without you."

His arms tightened around her almost immediately, and he pulled her to him fiercely. And she let him, thinking of nothing but how good it felt to be held by him, and how good it felt to hold him back. He smelled amazing, even in the middle of all of this, and she breathed him in unabashedly. _Red…_

"I'm always here for you, Lizzie," She felt him rumble the words, her ear on his chest. "Always."

She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head and bury his nose in her hair to breathe her in the same way she was doing to him. Suddenly, the realization that she was filthy and likely covered with bits of Tom Connolly reasserted itself in the forefront of her mind. She pulled away from Red reluctantly, and he let her go at once.

"I promise not to use up all the hot water," she quipped weakly, gathering her supplies and heading for the bathroom.

"Very considerate of you," he offered her a small smile as he sat back down at the table and poured another glass of wine. "Wish I could say the same for this bottle," he added with a smirk.

Liz rolled her eyes and shook her head at him ruefully before closing the bathroom door.


	2. Chapter Two - Day one, Part Two

Never in her life had Elizabeth Keen been so grateful for hot water and clean clothes. It didn't matter that the shower stall was only slightly bigger than a coffin and that she barely had enough room in the bathroom to dry herself off and put on those clothes, she was grateful.

The shower was hot, and the water pressure was good. Inside the duffel bag Red had given her was a smaller black bag with a number of good smelling things inside, along with the necessities. Liz laughed to herself, even as she wiped the tear stains from her face under the hot spray, to think that Red had called the contents of that bag "basic toiletries." There were travel-sized versions of everything she could need from shampoo to floss, and the fancy disposable razor had at least five blades on it.

She wondered if he had picked out the items himself, or if he'd had someone else go to the store for him. An image of Red, standing in the aisle of travel-sized toiletries of a drugstore or a Walmart somewhere, meticulously assessing the contents of each bin of tiny shampoos and antiperspirants for her use, popped into her head unbidden, and she chuckled.

She had come into the bathroom expecting to break down the second the door closed behind her. She was prepared for the probability that being alone with her thoughts and fresh memories of the recent, horrifying events of her life would leave her curled up on the floor for a few hours. She had already wept openly at least twice in front of Red today, despite willing every muscle in her body not to let it happen…surely now that she was alone, she wouldn't be able to stop herself.

But strangely, the feelings didn't come.

 _I'm still in shock_ , she thought to herself. _I may feel fine now, but that doesn't mean I'm okay…or that I'll still feel okay later._

She sighed, knowing that she was likely in for a series of post traumatic stress breakdowns in the near future, and of course, stuck down here, they were all going to be in front of Red.

As mortifying as it would be for her, and as unpleasant as it would be for him with her crying all the time, he would understand. She knew he would help her through it. There was no one _better_ to help her through such a thing, she realized, and a wave of relief washed over her. She pressed her forehead against the wall of the shower stall and silently thanked the Universe that she had chosen Red, and that she hadn't been stupid enough to run away with Tom when he had offered.

Keeping her promise not to use all of the hot water, Liz scrubbed herself raw to remove as much of the filth of her transgressions as she could—noting ironically that the thing she really needed to scrub was her soul—and stepped out of the stall.

The clothes in the bag were basic and comfortable. She had a couple of T-shirts, a pair of jeans, some soft sweatpants. The bras were her size and wireless, the panties were basic briefs and unornamented. Everything fit her perfectly, and again, Liz wondered who did Red's shopping. It was both creepy and comforting to have clothing that fit exactly like her own.

She chose the sweatpants and one of the t-shirts and looked at herself in the tiny mirror over the sink. They were black in color and fabric was heavy cotton and spandex. They clung to her backside and thighs in a very appealing way. She wondered what Red would think of them when she walked out of here. She imagined his eyes widening as she sashayed past him, then quickly schooling his expression, hoping she wouldn't notice his stare.

But she would notice. She always noticed when he looked at her like _that_.

Liz shook her head and came back to reality, suddenly aware that she was stupid, silly girl primping in front of the mirror and thinking about Red checking out her ass. It was completely inappropriate and incongruous with the reality of her situation. Since when did she care about looking appealing to Red? What had occurred in the last 48 hours that suddenly made Red attractive to her?

The answer didn't come easily to her, but she suspected it had something to do with her newfound status as a murderer and a criminal and Red's recent revelation of just how much he had done to protect her from her past. The lines had been blurred, their relationship to one another was no longer clear.

She thought of his expression when she'd told him she remembered the night of the fire. How his eyes had welled up for the briefest second.

 _I didn't want you to end up like me._

Well, it was too late for that now, wasn't it?

She remembered how he wouldn't meet her eyes as he said those words. Even when she rested her head against his shoulder, he hadn't relaxed. For her, there was a sense of peace in finally knowing the answers, but what was it like for Red?

 _You're my sin-eater._

 _I tried to be._

Red was always so protective of her, so furious when she risked herself to protect him. He had worked for years, worked so hard to keep her safe, to protect her from her past…and now she had gone and completely wasted all of his efforts. It was all for naught.

She leaned over the sink, suddenly feeling sick to her stomach. _Red must be so disappointed in me_ , she thought suddenly. _I messed everything up. They must all be so disappointed with me. We had a good thing going, and I screwed us all over._

Cooper had begged her not to take that shot. Cooper had known in that moment exactly what the consequences would be if she killed Connelly. He told her to run because that was the only thing she could do now, the only option she had left. There was no fixing this. There would be no more blacklist, no more working in the Post Office, no more budding friendships with Aram and Samar, no more chasing bad guys and shoot outs with Ressler at her side…Ressler, who had begged her not to do this and now had to hunt her down, hunt his own friend down. No more phone calls from Nick's Pizza.

What if Red decided she was too risky and foolish to keep protecting like this?

The sick feeling was overwhelming, and Liz dry-heaved over the toilet a few times, shaking, palms clammy and cold, face sweating and warm. When she was sure she wasn't going to vomit, she dropped the lid of the toilet down and sat on it, trembling violently, suddenly freezing despite the hot shower only seconds before.

Red was literally all she had left at this point. What would she do if he left her too and walked out of her life as quickly as he'd entered it? The dry heaves turned into gasping sobs that she tried to stifle, but it was no use, and within moments she heard a hesitant tap on the door.

"Lizzie?"

She breathed deep and wiped her face, trying to regain a modicum of control. After a minute she opened the door to find Red standing there, concerned and worried for her. It was too much to bear, and the tears returned.

"Lizzie, what—" Red started to ask, but she cut him off.

"I'm so s-s-stupid!" she half blurted, half blubbered. "I'm so sorry!"

Red closed his mouth and took her hand in his. Gently, ever so gently, as one leads a small child, he lead her back to the table and pulled out a chair. She sat and immediately put her face into her hands.

"Sorry for what?" he crooned, handing her more paper towels, then rising to grab a plastic cup and a jug of water from the shelf behind him. He poured water into the cup and held it out to her. "Here, drink this."

She drank and took a shuddery breath.

"I was alright until I got dressed, and then I started thinking about…" she trailed off, realizing she should probably leave out the five minutes she spent imagining Red ogling her butt in these pants. Unbidden, a hysterical snort of laughter escaped her between sobs. Red raised an eyebrow, but she shook her head dismissively. "I started thinking about how badly I've let everyone down, how it can never be the same, and how much I liked my job, and the work we were all doing, and now I've ruined it…I ruined everything. Not just for me, but for them too."

She took another sip of water, staring down at the table, tears still coming but she made no effort to wipe them. She risked looking over at Red, but his expression was inscrutable.

"I feel like I let you down," she admitted. Red immediately opened his mouth to deny it, but she shook her head to stop him. "You've worked my entire life to keep me safe and untainted by the past, and I just threw it all away because a mean man in a suit made some ugly threats and I wanted to shut him up."

"Lizzie…"

"No, Red, at least if I'd let Connelly live, they would know who to watch. He told me just before I pulled the trigger that even if I shot him, someone else would just take his place, and then we wouldn't _know_ who that person would be. You already had Cooper conspiring against him in secret; we could have waited, made a plan, and kept the element of surprise! Why didn't I think about that? How could I have been so stupid? And reckless?"

"Lizzie, you couldn't have…" Red tried again.

"I wouldn't blame you if you wanted to go," she muttered to the floor, ignoring the sudden shocked silence from the other side of the table. "You've put so much work into me, so much wasted time and effort protecting me and keeping me on the right path, away from danger, and I still turned out so completely _screwed up_. For all you know, once we get out of here I'll do something else irrevocably foolish, and get _you_ killed too. I might be a lost cause, Red…I wouldn't blame you for coming to the same conclusion."

"Elizabeth. Look at me," Red commanded. Liz took a deep breath and did ask he asked. His expression was kind, but Liz could see frustration pulling at the corners of his mouth. "You are _not_ a lost cause. You are a very noble cause. When it comes to you, I regret nothing, and I do not begrudge you anything. You know this."

"But I don't deserve…" she started to speak, but he shushed her and shook his head. He reached for her hand and clasped it tightly.

"I am not going anywhere without you. We're a team, remember? You and I are going to spend some time relaxing and planning down here, and then we'll be off to take on the Cabal. The question you should really be asking yourself is whether or not you want to take this journey with _me_ …I know you have other options."

He was referring to Tom, she knew. Liz winced and pulled away from him, but as usual, he continued talking.

"We will be full time criminals, Lizzie. Everyone will know your face and who you are. It won't be fun and games like before, with the F.B.I. ready to extract us if needed. We will likely be subject to some unpleasant situations, and forced to act in ways that may weigh far more heavily on your conscience than shooting people like Connolly. And while you may believe you've disappointed me by 'wasting' my efforts to protect you, you should consider the possibility that I may not be a very competent protector."

"What?" Liz's head jerked up. "That's not true!"

"All evidence to the contrary," Red gestured to their surroundings.

"Red! How many times have you saved my life?"

"About the same number of times I have allowed it to be endangered. I've brought a lot of trouble into your life Elizabeth…don't think that I'm not aware of that."

Liz was speechless now. Red took advantage of the break in their disagreement to drain the last mouthful from his wineglass and frown at the empty bottle.

"Do you think the pub up there is open yet?" he queried suddenly, completely off subject. "If we're going to continue this conversation, I need to procure something a little stronger…and grabbing a bottle from behind the bar may prove difficult with an audience."

"Especially in that uniform," she quipped with a watery smile. Red looked down, remembering he was still dressed like a cop.

"Well then," he said, standing up and procuring his own black duffel bag. "Hold that thought, Lizzie. I'll return shortly." He walked to the bathroom with his bag and closed the door behind him.

Liz took a moment to admire how deftly he had extricated himself from their somewhat unpleasant conversation and listened for the sound of footsteps overhead. Hearing nothing, she looked to see if there was any wine left…if Red was going up, perhaps he could grab more.

There was wine left. Many bottles, in fact, including some chardonnay, which Liz knew Red hated, but she secretly loved. She picked a bottle and opened it.

The bathroom door opened and out came Red…in a pair of jeans and a black, button-down shirt. Liz nearly over-poured her glass of chardonnay at the sight, and set the bottle down a little too hard.

"What?" he asked, taking in her shocked expression.

"I guess, um," she stammered. "I've never seen you dressed so casually, before. It's…different."

He looked _good_. Too good. He was approachable and comfortable, and _attractive._ She even caught herself starring at _his_ backside as he knelt to slide his bag under his bed, and shook her head at the irony of it.

"You look nice," she added casually as he came to stand beside her, and had to immediately look down so that he didn't see her blush.

"Thank you," he replied, looking somewhat perplexed. He studied her face for a moment too long while she attempted to look nonchalant, and sipped her wine casually. Red's gaze followed the glass in her hand to the bottle on the table. "Oh god, Lizzie, what did you do?" he gestured to the chardonnay.

"It's not for you, it's for me," she rolled her eyes. "And I don't hear anyone overhead, so I'd say you have really good odds of snagging that bottle of scotch, if you still want it."

"Oh yes. Especially now that I see what my options are," he scoffed and moved towards the stairs.

"Red…" she called after him. He paused to look back at her. "Be careful up there, okay?"

He nodded an gave her a small smile.

He was up, out, and had the faux sink back in place in under a minute. Liz waited with baited breath, listening for any sound of sign of trouble. Had Red taken his gun with him? She thought so, but wasn't sure. She heard footsteps moving across the floor, and then again. The door to the closet above opened and shut, and then Red's voice muttered, "It's me, Lizzie," before the sink was lifted. "Let me hand you these."

She moved to the bottom of the stair-ladder and reached up for the two bottles of scotch and two tumblers Red handed her and set them down on the ground. She reached up again only to have Red pass her a plate loaded with a giant bacon cheeseburger and a pile of steak fries.

"What's this?" she asked softly, conscious of the fact that they were still exposed, but too excited to wait.

"Dinner," Red replied, handing her another plate of the same and a bottle of ketchup. He climbed in and carefully closed the heavy panel above them, turning the latch securely in place. "Eli thought we might want something other than canned soup, but we should really attempt to stay down here and not go back up for as long as possible—the hunt is still on. There are officers patrolling everywhere."

Liz nodded and set the two plates on the table and put the bottle of ketchup in the middle. She folded two paper towels in half and laid them next to the plates like napkins.

"Do we need silverware?" she asked dubiously.

"Not for me," Red replied, pouring himself a scotch right away. He held up the other empty glass in front of her invitingly.

"No, thank you," she said, pulling her wine glass and bottle of chardonnay closer. Red gave her choice of beverage a distinct look of disapproval, then shrugged and sat down to dig into his burger. She did the same, not realizing how hungry (and tipsy) she had been until now.

"This might be the best burger I've ever had," she mumbled between mouthfuls.

"Eli certainly knows his trade," Red replied.

"Do think he'll make them for us again?"

"I'm sure he will."

Liz chewed thoughtfully. She wondered if she should say something to Red to finish out their conversation from earlier.

She looked up at him…just in time to see a great glob of ketchup ooze out of the bottom of his burger and land on his shirt.

"Dammit," Red hissed under his breath, dabbing furiously with his paper towel. "That's going to leave a stain."

"It's a black shirt, Red. No one will notice."

"It's the principle of the thing, Lizzie!" He dipped the paper towel in his water glass and continued to dab determinedly at the spot on his shirt. He was so determined, so focused, Liz couldn't stop herself from laughing at him softly.

"Out out, damned spot!" she muttered under her breath, mimicking his tones, viciously mocking what she presumed to be his own internal monologue. His eyes flicked up and met hers in half amusement, half annoyance. "Will all great Neptune's ocean not wash this ketchup from my shirt?!" She did her best impression of him, furrowing her brow as she focused intensely on his shirt, tilting her head to the side. Red snorted in recognition and surprise, and she half-collapsed in her chair, shaking in silent laughter.

Wow, she had had a lot of wine.

Red, to her delight, was laughing just as hard as she was. She grinned back at him openly. Had she ever teased him before? She couldn't remember, but it certainly was _fun_.

"I've changed my mind Lizzie…you may have as much chardonnay as you please," he winked at her cheekily. She smiled.

They simultaneously became aware of the sound of footsteps overhead. Lizzie startled and looked up fearfully, wondering how long people had been upstairs while she was down here laughing…loudly.

"The pub is open now, it's just the customers," Red explained. "We're all right."

She breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed again. Red went back to eating while she studied him, the alcohol making her brave enough to do it openly. He finished his food neatly, not wanting to have a repeat experience with the ketchup, wiped his mouth and noticed her gazing at him.

"Tell me your thoughts, sweetheart," he invited, pouring himself another drink.

"I was just thinking about how surreal this all is…We've never done this before."

"Done what before?"

"Just…been in the same room together, shared a meal together as friends, gotten drunk together," she raised her glass and he did the same, they clinked and each took a swig of their chosen poisons. "I mean, you're wearing jeans…" she continued.

"What is your obsession with these jeans?" he chuckled.

"They make you look normal, like a regular guy," she sighed. "It's just weird seeing you that way…much less seeing you that way in a safe room underground while we hide from the F.B.I."

"So you like me dressed this way?" Liz was not too inebriated to hear the smugness in his tone.

"Yes," she responded, looking him right in the eye. _Deal with that, Red._ He raised an eyebrow at her, but said nothing, looking pleased.

"Red…" she started say, suddenly serious, remembering their conversation from before. "I need you to know some things…I have things I need to say to you." If only her fuzzy brain would let her get them out.

He sighed and looked down at his drink, clearly bracing himself for the worst. "Go ahead, Lizzie. I'm listening."

"You said that you don't think you've protected me well enough…but that's not true, because you have. What else could you have done, Red? Except maybe let me in on the whole story a little bit sooner…" she frowned. "I might have done some things…differently. But it doesn't matter now, because I made my choice."

"Your choice?"

"I was…I was with Tom last night, Red," Her face colored with shame, knowing Red would not be pleased to hear this part. "He was helping me hunt down Karakurt, and he'd been trying to make things right between us, and it's been hard to let go of him, even after everything." Red's hand clenched tightly around his glass of scotch, but he continued to listen. "He asked me go with him, to run away together on his boat, but I couldn't do it. I had to come back in, to show the team what we'd found, and when I really did need to run, to get away, I didn't call Tom, I called you."

Red's eyes gleamed.

"So that's it, I guess," she looked down at her glass and back up at the man watching her intently on the other side of the table. "I considered my options, and I chose you. I'm in, Red. I trust you. Let's do this. Let's get back out there and do what we need to do to take down the Cabal. I'm ready…or at least, I will be when we leave here."

Red said nothing. He looked dumbfounded, which made Liz hesitate.

"I mean," she backpedaled. "That is…if you'll have me…"

"Lizzie, of course," Red breathed, looking at her with something almost akin to wonder. "Alright then," he cleared his throat. "We're agreed."

He reached for her hand and gave it a little ceremonial shake. She squeezed warmly in return.

"Have I mentioned how grateful I am to have you in the middle of all of this?"

"I believe you have, yes," Red sighed. He squeezed her hand in return, then stood to gather their plates. "I'm going to put these away, and then what do you say to a rematch?" He nodded towards the cards.

"One of many, I'm guessing. It's going to be a long week, Red."

"A long week of me kicking your ass at cards," Red teased as he stacked the dirty dishes in an empty tub on one shelf.

They played and drank together late into the night. Liz even managed to win a few rounds against Red, despite her increasing stupor.

"Would you like to go to sleep?" Red asked her at one point as she practically nodded off in front of him. "Let's call it a night."

"No," she woke herself up and picked up her cards again. "I'm afraid of I what I'll see when I close my eyes."

Red knew that feeling too well and decided not to push, but eventually nature won out. Liz put her head down on the table and fell asleep in the middle of their third game of Crazy Eights.

Not wanting to startle her, Red stood and touched her arm lightly.

"Mmphf," Liz replied.

"Come on, Lizzie. Let me help you," he rumbled, helping her to her feet and maneuvering her over to her bed. He pulled back the covers and sat her down on top of the mattress. She hadn't put on shoes after her shower, just socks. He tucked her feet in.

"Sorry Red," she mumbled. "Too much wine."

"You're allowed. It's been quite a day, and we had fun." He pulled the covers up over her.

"Yes," she grinned sleepily, breaking his heart in more ways than one. "Thank you," she clenched his hand for a moment before going slack. She was asleep again.

"You're welcome," Red replied, though he knew she couldn't hear. He allowed himself a small moment to take in and appreciate the sight of her sleeping, relaxed and peaceful, before removing himself to his side of the room.

Red never slept more than a few hours a night, no matter what he tried. He turned the lights off, except for the one in the bathroom, poured another scotch and lay down on his bed, watchful and wary. He could hear a few patrons overhead holding out for last call. He sipped and rested, and marveled at the way everything could change in such a short amount of time.

When Liz discovered that he was responsible for Tom, and all that came along with that revelation, he'd thought for certain it was over. And he understood. He was prepared for her to never forgive him, he accepted it. She was so angry with him…

…and yet, she had chosen him.

Red took another sip of his scotch and smiled up at the ceiling in the dark, reveling in the knowledge and the warmth it brought to his poor, tired heart.

 _She had chosen him._

 _..._

*Who cares about Liz's hair? More Red in jeans!


	3. Chapter Three - Day Two, Part One

The first night, there were no dreams, but hangover she had the next morning told her that the alcohol was entirely responsible for that.

She awoke in a particularly uncomfortable position on her back, limbs splayed haphazardly, mouth open, pillow wedged underneath her. She sat up gingerly, wincing, realizing there was a crust of drool trailing down the side of her mouth and wiping it away, disgusted. Her head was pounding and her stomach was boiling. She put her head in her hands and tried not to think about vomiting. So caught up was she in post-bacchanal misery, the sound of a throat clearing made her jump and look up.

Red was sitting ever-so-casually at the table with a book, freshly showered and not the slightest bit hungover. Damn him.

"Good morning, Lizzie!" he crowed, snapping his book shut and letting it drop with an excruciatingly loud thud to the top of the table. She groaned and put her head back in her hands. "I trust you slept well."

He stood, purposefully allowing his chair to scrape across the floor in the harshest sound known to man, and poured a glass of water.

"At least," he continued, "I'm assuming you must have slept well—I know I would undoubtedly wake myself up repeatedly if I snored that loudly."

She groaned and tried to hide under her covers, pulling her pillow over her head. Red chuckled and procured a bottle of ibuprofen out of the med kit on the shelf next to him, shaking it far more forcefully than necessary as he fished out the correct number of pills.

The lump in Liz's bed made a strangled sound.

"What was that, sweetheart?" he came to stand at her bedside. "I didn't quite hear you." He lifted the pillow off her head and smiled down beatifically at her glaring face.

"You're a real bastard, you know that?" she grumbled up at him.

Red grinned at her.

"Sit up a bit," he instructed, and when she did, he handed her the cup of water and the pills, which she accepted gratefully. "Do you think you can keep something down?" She nodded, gulping the water and ibuprofen and allowing some of the haze and pain to dissipate.

Red pulled a box of cereal from the shelves and a carton of evaporated milk. Putting a small but well-ratioed amount of each into a bowl, he handed it to her with a spoon.

"Thank you," she said, then proceeded to carefully try a few spoonfuls to see what would happen. Thankfully, her stomach seemed okay with it, and she began to eat in earnest.

Red busied himself with making coffee. He filled a teakettle and placed it on the hotplate, filled a french press with a few generous spoonfuls of ground coffee, and when the kettle began to steam, he poured its contents into the chamber with the coffee and put the lid on.  
"Nothing like coffee from a french press, eh Lizzie?"

She agreed wholeheartedly.

He poured her another glass of water while they waited for the grounds to steep. Seeing she had finished her first bowl of cereal, Red held the box up to her with a question on his face. She nodded affirmatively and held out her bowl in a manner reminiscent of Oliver Twist. Red smirked and shook the cereal box over her bowl, then deftly poured a dollop of milk in with it. She smiled up at him in thanks, and he cocked his head to the side and smiled back at her, crinkling the corners of his eyes.

The were a picture of domestic bliss, as she practically inhaled the second bowl of cereal and Red poured fresh coffee into two mugs.

Her ability to move and function somewhat restored, Liz stretched and sat up. She straightened her bed around her, pulling up the covers, repositioning her pillow and smoothing down her hair, which she was certain must be sticking out all over the place. She was still fully clothed, the bed was comfortable, and she felt no need to come out from under the covers…like a lazy Sunday morning.

Luckily, Red seemed more than happy to fuss over her. She watched him prepare her coffee exactly how she liked it—of course he didn't need to ask her, he already knew. She felt a sudden wave of appreciation for him. When he approached her with his mug in one hand and hers in the other, she accepted the proffered beverage, tucked up her feet, and patted the foot of her bed in invitation for him to sit.

Red hesitated for a split second before handing her his mug to hold. He sat down on the edge of the mattress and slid back until his back was flat against the wall. He crossed his legs in front of him and settled in comfortably. Liz returned his coffee mug to him. She raised her mug slightly in a small cheers, which he reciprocated.

One sip, and the world already felt a million times better.

"God, this is good," she groaned.

"Mmm, agreed," he rumbled.

"Did I really snore last night?" she asked him bashfully.

"Oh yes," Red confirmed, eyeing her with a wicked grin. "Most enthusiastically."

"Why did you let me drink so much?" she teased, leaning back against the wall and curling her legs up under her.

"There was no stopping you," he chuckled. "Besides, it was warranted…a necessary catharsis."

She groaned and massaged her temple briefly.

"How are you not in just as bad shape as me?" she grumbled. "You had double what I did…of hard liquor, no less."

"Practice," he smirked. She rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Relax Lizzie, all you did was snore. It could have been much worse…there could have been hair-holding involved."

"Good point," she sighed. "I'd much rather you hand me the Tylenol than the trashcan."

They clinked mugs in solidarity and drank.

After their breakfast, Liz showered and dressed. Red was surprised to see her crawl back into her bed afterward, but made no comment. He held up the French press questioningly, and she nodded, still nursing her hangover

"We should probably turn on the TV…Get an update of some sort…" she muttered, as Red handed her another cup of coffee. He sighed and nodded in agreement, knowing that whatever they were about to see would likely be unpleasant. He turned on the television and retook his seat on Liz's bed.

The reports were as expected. Liz searched the scrolling headlines for some sign of how things were going for the task force, wondering what was happening with Cooper especially, but there was nothing. The sensationalist aspects of their escape and ongoing manhunt were far more likely to boost ratings, and so every channel was plastered with pictures of herself and Raymond Reddington, and the reporters told and retold the same inflammatory narrative, milking the story of their misdeeds for all it was worth.

Liz found herself shaking her head repeatedly in disgust. She was clutching her pillow to her chest, back against the wall, legs crossed Indian-style. She couldn't stop fidgeting. Finally, Red reached over and covered her knee with his hand.

"Quite a spectacle we've elicited, hmm?" he patted her consolingly.

"It seems so useless just sitting down here and waiting," she huffed in frustration, not taking her eyes off the screen lest she miss something.

"Unfortunately, it's the safest, smartest thing for us to do at the moment," Red sighed.

"I know, I know, and I'm not complaining…It's just that…would it kill them to report on something else besides us? What happened to all the stories from the Fulcrum?"

"Likely they're being suppressed by the Cabal…as least for now, since they have more salacious fodder to push," Red quirked his eyebrows at her as he said the last part. Liz snorted and covered his hand with hers, gripping it tightly. Only Red made it possible to laugh about these things.

They sat like that for another hour, huddled together on her bed, watching the "news" and viciously mocking their portrayals while drinking the last of the coffee.

"Ugh, one might think they could find a better picture of me than the one on my "Most Wanted" poster…I look like a hobo," Red lamented.

"They can't show you in one of your three piece suits and $5000.00 designer sunglasses, Red. You'd make crime look too good, and a Top Ten Most Wanted criminal can't appear successful without the F.B.I. looking weak."

"You forgot my jaunty head wear," Red intoned. "Crime looks downright seductive in a fedora."

Liz chuckled, but didn't disagree. She looked over at him now, dressed as he was, and marveled again at the discrepancy. The man on the screen was not the real Raymond Reddington, and she was one of the few privileged people in the world to know that fact. It was a powerful thing to know that she would never have to fear him as others did. It was an even headier thing to know that Red would always have her back, even as he mercilessly schemed and plotted against others…

"You know, it's not polite to stare, Lizzie," Red chuckled, "But I won't protest if you're enjoying the view…" he preened slightly, clearly delighted by her gaze. She snapped out of her reverie and blushed.

"I can't help it…I was just picturing that seductive fedora," she shot back, adopting some of the innuendo he always seemed to have for her in spades. She felt a small thrill of victory at the look of surprise on his face. Before he could recover, she abruptly changed the subject…another trick she'd learned from him. "Tell me about the Troll Maker."

"Yes, well," Red began, clearing his throat…did she really have this much effect on him? "He'll be ready to help us get moving by the end of this week. He's a computer genius. He and his team of hackers are preparing several red herrings to aid our escape, digitally adding our images to security footage all over the city and preparing a number of very enticing and complex false trails for the FBI to follow. Once unleashed, there won't be any law enforcement left to catch us as we make a discreet exit…which is why we must stay down here for a bit—by the time the Trollmaker is ready, the FBI will be desperate for fresh leads," he explained, then pursed his lips and looked over at her apologetically. "Unfortunately, you may have to wait awhile before you see me in your favorite hat again, sweetheart."

"Ah, well," Liz acknowledged his words with a completely straight face. "I hear good things come to those who wait."

Red's expression was priceless. She grinned at him wickedly and soon he followed suite.

"Indeed they do, Lizzie," he purred, his expression intent and focused on her mouth.

She felt a sudden thrill move through her, and she started to wonder how it would feel to kiss him, to feel his lips pressed against hers as she'd seen them pressed against other women countless times. Sitting here on her bed, casual and carefree, close enough that all she had to do was lean in and reach for him, and it would happen…the possibility was real…too real.

She hesitated for the briefest moment, and instantly Red's face regained his neutral expression.

"Of course, that's only if they can survive the wait," he quipped brightly and hopping off her bed in a spritely manner and moving to the storage shelves. He pulled out a pad of paper and a pen and set them at her place on the table. He then retrieved a large file from the duffel bag under his bed. "Let's review some of our future plans and targets, shall we?"

Liz arose from her bed and stretched, grateful for the distraction from the fact that she'd almost just leaned in and kissed Raymond Reddington, and even more disturbingly, the fact she was now queerly disappointed that she hadn't done it.

Thankfully, Red could always be counted on to fill-in an awkward silence. Without skipping a beat, he opened the folder and began pulling out pictures and papers. He laid them before her neatly and began to take her through each one.

Liz used the pad and pen to take notes. They quickly fell into a familiar rhythm developed over the last two years, Red laying out the matter at hand, Liz asking clarifying questions and filling in the blanks. They were heading for Dubai, where Red's influence was vast and his assets numerous. The lack of extradition treaty with the United States was a nice bonus, and meant they would be able to move freely.

Of course, they had to make it there first.

After a few hours, Red thought they'd gone over enough. They put the file back together and set it aside. Then Red pulled a novel from the shelf and retreated to his side of the room. Liz did the same, but turned the TV on again, partially to see any updates as they aired, partially for background noise. Red clearly needed a moment to himself, but she still craved distraction.

She tried to read, but it was impossible. Going over future plans only made her restless to start putting those plans into action.

She switched between the limited selection of TV stations to no avail.

Finally she sat down at the table, un-holstered her gun, and unloaded it. Grabbing a washcloth from the shelf and her pen from earlier, Liz began to break down the Glock 26 to give it a thorough wipe down. She used the pen to push the cloth down the barrel and clean out the chamber, and polished each piece, surprised Red didn't have a cleaning kit down here. Or maybe did, and just wasn't going to tell her. He probably had a whole cache of weapons down here, likely stored in the dry goods.

He was watching her, she could feel it. He was pretending to read, but she could feel the heat of his eyes on her. He carried on the charade for some time until her weapon was completely cleaned, reassembled and reloaded. Then, she looked up at him, caught his eyes, and blatantly asked, "Yours too?"

He accepted her offer and handed her his holster. She took it and began to disassemble his piece, grinning when he subsequently pulled a minuscule .38 special from a hidden holster on his ankle.

"This one too, please," he demanded, proffering the gun to her imperiously and then making a bit of a show about getting back to his book.

She was meticulous and precise, but after all was said and done, and all of their guns clean and reassembled, she had managed to kill about an hour and a half.

God, how am I going to get through this week?

She put her head down on her arms at the table and tried to cope with the reality of her situation for a moment. She needed to get back out there. She needed to start the work of clearing her name and taking down the Cabal. She needed it so much, tears sprang into her eyes at the rawness of it, the desperation, but she blinked them away quickly, and watched them hit the floor beneath the table. Taking a shaky breath, she raised her head, re-holstered Red's sidearm and handed it back to him.

He took it from her, still watching her quietly.

She shrugged and handed him his .38.

"It comes in waves, I guess," she wiped her eyes furtively.

"Yes," he agreed. "What were you thinking about?"

"How much I wish we could get moving already…how badly I want to find out more about my mother…feeling frustrated."

Red sighed and sat up in his bed, carefully marking his place in the book.

"I'm sorry," she began holding her hands out in a halting motion. "I'm restless and annoying you. We don't have to talk right now. Ignore me…Finish your book."

Red opened his mouth to assure her she was no bother, but thought better of it and patted the spot next to him on his bed, just as she had done to him earlier.

"Come finish it with me," he rumbled with a small smile. "I'll read aloud."


	4. Chapter Four - Day Two, Part Two

Surprised by his offer—no one had read a story to her since she was child—but pleased by the idea of it, Liz stood and accepted by sitting down next to him and tucking her feet up under her.

"What are we reading?" she sighed.

"Huckleberry Finn," Red replied, re-opening the novel. "Would you like me to start from the beginning?"

"How much have you read so far? I'm familiar with this book."

"Huck just found Pap in his bedroom."

"Keep going from there," Liz requested. "That's just a few chapters in."

"Very well," Red cleared his throat. "Would you like me to do the voices?" He tone was serious, but his face was not.

"Of course," she replied smoothly. "I'll be interested to hear your take on Jim."

She curled up next to him as Red chuckled and began to read. He chose not to do different voices or accents, but his skillful intonation and clear enthusiasm for the story left her no less enthralled. She closed her eyes and rested the back of her head against the wall behind her, letting Red's smokey voice and Mark Twain's magnificent story take her away.

At some point she leaned in and rested her head on his shoulder. He obligingly moved the book a little closer so she could read along with him. Her eyes moved over the page as the sound of his voice reading the words before her seared itself into her sensory memory. Even dressed casually, Red still smelled like Red—delicious and clean and male. Liz knew that she would never read this story again without remembering this moment, here, with him.

She slid her arm around his and hugged his bicep to her chest, relaxing her full weight against his side, head still on his shoulder. Red reached over and placed his warm hand on her knee, running his thumb over it intermittently, removing it only when he had to turn the page.

There was a sudden light tapping at the entrance overhead. Both of them startled and looked up.

Red was on his feet instantly, leaving Liz to recover her balance at the sudden absence of his support before she followed suit.

Red climbed up and unlocked the inside latch. He pushed upwards to help Eli clear the false sink. Liz looked up at him and smiled. Eli returned the smile and gave Red a courteous nod.

"How are you holding up down there?" He asked quietly.

"We're managing," Red replied at the same time Liz said, "Pretty good." Eli seemed pleased to hear this. He handed Red a pile of fresh newspapers and a heavy black duffel bag. Red passed these down to Liz.

"I thought I could take your trash and dishes," Eli offered. "Dirty laundry too…there are fresh towels in the bag."

Liz quickly assembled the items and helped Red pass them up. The smell of fresh garlic and tomatoes wafted down towards her, along with the usual smells of the pub above them.

"What are you cooking up there?" she inquired hopefully. Eli chuckled at her.

"The special tonight is lasagna. Not your standard pub fare, but my sister is visiting, and she volunteered to make it…her recipe. Would you like me to bring you some for your dinner?"

"Absolutely," Red nodded.

"Please!" Liz half-begged.

Eli smirked and grabbed the items they had pushed up to him. "Be right back."

Red climbed back down to wait for Eli to return

"I hope there's garlic bread!" Liz grinned.

"Jesus, me too," Red replied. She chuckled at his enthusiasm.

They used the wait time to see to their interim needs, using the bathroom and cleaning off the table. Red moved over to the shelf with the wine on it and held up a bottle of red questioningly.

"Will you be okay if I open this?"

"Yes. I might even have a glass. I feel so much better."

Red uncorked the bottle and poured them each a glass.

They heard the door to the closet above them open. Eli was back with two trays overflowing with huge slices of steaming lasagna and salad. As Red passed her tray down, Liz was pleased to note a giant chunk of freshly toasted garlic bread resting next to her salad.

Eli bid them farewell and moved the sink back into place, locking them together beneath the earth once more.

They ate in companionable silence. Liz practically had to refrain from licking her plate clean, and Red declared he had never had better…not even in Italy itself.

When they were done and plates cleared away, Liz poured herself a second glass of wine and looked over at Red hopefully.

"Is it silly if I ask you to read to me some more?"

"Not at all…Shall we finish the book?" he asked rhetorically, standing with his wineglass and moving back towards his bed. Liz was relieved to see him move that way. She wanted nothing more than to curl up against him again. She would drink her wine, listen to his voice, feel him warm and solid against her, and think of nothing else but Huck and Jim and their adventures on the raft.

Red seemed to have a similar mindset. He began to assemble a few items for their mutual comfort and minimal disruption. He grabbed a bottle of water for himself and one for Liz. He pulled an extra blanket from the shelf and tossed it on his bed. He grabbed another bottle of wine and the corkscrew, and then made a pass by Liz's bed and snagged her pillow.

Liz watched him do all this amusedly, wine glass in hand. While Red nested and refused her offer of assistance, she made a quick trip to the bathroom and brushed her teeth, conscious of the scent of garlic on her hands and the taste of it in her mouth. She didn't close the bathroom door, but it surprised her when Red's figure appeared in the doorway as she was spitting toothpaste—messily— into the sink.

"Garlic," she explained, attempting very casually to wipe splattered toothpaste and spit from her face with a hand towel. Red nodded approvingly and pretended he hadn't caught her off-guard.

"Ah," he grunted stepped through the door. "I should probably do the same. Scooch please," He slid past her in the tiny space that was barely big enough for one person, let alone two, and plucked his toothbrush from the holder next to the sink before she could protest.

"I…um…was going to floss," Liz stammered, unsure of why she had to announce that aloud, vaguely feeling like she needed to ask his permission before performing such a personal act in front of him…did Red really need to see her go after the lasagna bits stuck between her bicuspids? Probably not.

"Go ahead, Lizzie. I've seen you do worse," Red grinned at her in the mirror around a mouthful of toothpaste. Liz rolled her eyes, but pulled a length of floss from the plastic container anyway.

Red spit his toothpaste perfectly—of course—into the drain and ran the water to wash it down. He too then procured a length of floss and began to use it on his teeth unabashedly. Liz smiled at the surreal and ridiculous sight of them both flossing away in the mirror before her. Red caught her eyes in the mirror and smiled too.

"Ready?" he asked when they were both finished. She nodded, and they made their way back out into the main living area.

Red pulled a chair away from the table and set it next to his bed as a makeshift nightstand. He piled their provisions on top of the flat seat, and motioned for Liz to have a seat and settle in. He moved to the shelves again, picking items up and moving them aside.

"What are you looking for?" she queried as she sat on his bed and wedged her pillow behind her back.

"You'll see," he called out in sing-song. A few moments later he turned around and approached her, hands hidden behind his back, his expression smug and teasing.

"What is it?" she asked wryly, and Red gleefully produced a large glossy brown box tied with a darker brown ribbon from behind his back.

"Belgian chocolates, Lizzie!" he crowed. "I'd completely forgotten I stashed these down here! They may be a little stale, but they'll still be delicious."

"Score!" she cried, delighted as he was by this unexpected treat, laughing with him. "Things are looking up."

They cozied up together once more on his bed, the excess of blankets and pillows making it infinitely more comfortable and their positions sustainable for the many chapters ahead. It was nothing to lean back against his chest and accept the comfort of his arms around her. He was so warm.

They drank a little more wine, and Red continued reading aloud. She could feel the thump of his heart between her shoulder blades. At one point, he handed her the book in order to pour himself another glass of wine and open up the chocolates. She continued reading from where he left off, giving him a small break, but when he offered her the box, she had to stop and take a truffle.

"Amazing," she groaned after biting into it. "Did you actually get these in Belgium?"

"Of course," he replied, sounding slightly affronted that she would even have to ask.

"Of course," she echoed, rolling her eyes slightly. She looked back at him, but he only smiled softly in response.

She took another chocolate, then sighed.

"We're going to have to move the table and do some push-ups or jumping jacks tomorrow. Who knew being on the run would be so fattening?" she quipped, and felt Red chuckle behind her.

He picked the book up again and continued to read. Liz took another chocolate for herself, then took a second one and held it up to his mouth behind her. Red ate the chocolate from between her fingers, muttered "Thank you" as he chewed, and continued reading. She did this intermittently until he politely refused.

With his sable voice and his warmth at her back, the wine and terrible drunken coma-sleep she had had the night before, it wasn't long until her head dropped onto his chest, and she was out cold.

The nightmare began as many of them began since her night at the Alchemist's cabin…her entire body was paralyzed, but she could still feel it. She could feel something solid against her back. She couldn't move, she couldn't move and she needed to move, she knew. She could smell the smoke. The fire was coming, she knew. And she could only stand there, trembling and terrified, waiting for it to come.

And then they were all standing before her. All the people she had hurt, all the terrible things she had done reflected in their faces, in their eyes, Ressler and the team, looking at her in disgust. the Harbormaster, tears in his eyes. She could feel tears in her own eyes, stinging, burning. Waves of guilt and grief washed over her. She wanted to throw up. Cooper was shaking his head at her, his face hard. She was sobbing.

To the right of her, Red sat with his legs crossed in an armchair, seemingly unaware of the lynch mob before her. He had a cigar in his mouth, fedora on his head, and was reading a paper.

"Red!" she called out.

"Yes, Lizzy?" he sounded bored.

"What am I doing here? What are they going to do to me?" she asked him frantically.

"I think you already know…they're going to finish what you started."

"What I started?"

Liz looked down towards her feet, only to realize she was surrounded by bundles of stick and standing on a pile of wood. She couldn't move, she couldn't run. They were going to burn her alive.

"Red!" she cried as they approached her en masse. Red did not look up from his paper. Tom Connolly pulled out a box of matches. They all pulled out their own boxes of matches. "Please don't do this," she begged them. "Please…"

They all struck matches simultaneously, tiny vicious little flames in the dark illuminating the hate and condemnation on each of their faces. Samar looked almost triumphant…Aram was wretched with betrayal.

"Red, help me, please…" she quavered. "Please!" She couldn't breathe, tears streaming down her face.

They approached slowly.

"I'm afraid you're beyond help, Lizzie," Red sighed, turning the page casually. "Too stubborn and reckless…Even I have my limits, you ungrateful child."

Her heart sank in her chest. It was all she could do to breathe.

Ressler was the first one to fling his match. The others followed him quickly, and the world burst into flame.

She was burning, she could smell her own flesh burning, her hair was burning. The pain was searing and white hot, unlike anything she had ever experienced.

"RED!" She wailed "RED! PLEASE!"

Smoke, there was smoke everywhere. She couldn't breathe, her lungs BURNED. The fire was in her chest. She screamed. She screamed and no one came.  
"RED…" she sobbed, to no avail

And she felt her body being shaken.

"ELIZABETH!" she heard him bellow, and suddenly she could move.

Her eyes flew open, and she flailed, lashing our in fear even as she remembered herself. She pushed away from Red violently, but fortunately he was already on his feet. She flung herself against the wall, eyes huge and terrified.

"It's okay Lizzie!" he rasped.

"Oh my god, Red!" she blubbered in shock. He reached for her automatically. Her entire body was trembling, and without any warning, she dissolved into heaving, body-racking sobs.

Red put his arms around her, hesitantly at first, and then pulled her face to his chest, partially to offer her comfort, but partially to comfort himself. He had never heard someone make sounds like that—like the sounds she had made in her sleep, just now. She had been wailing his name like a heartbroken child…he would never forget the raw desperation of it…it had chilled him, stopped his heart, practically. What in the world could have made her cry out like that?

He squeezed her tightly and pulled her torso across his chest so that her face was buried in his other shoulder. She curled around him, instinctively clinging to him and his offer of comfort. He held her back, rocking slightly, making soothing nonsense sounds and whispers into her hair. He ran one hand across her back and over her arm to reassure himself she was in one piece.

"You fell asleep at the part where they try to rescue Jim," he murmured almost conversationally. "I tried not to take it as a comment on my skills as a narrator," he added with a ghost of his usual humor. She was still shaking, but she had stopped sobbing. She still clung to him, every muscle clenched. "And you seemed so comfortable, so peaceful, after your day of pacing and worrying, I didn't want to wake you—I just let you rest here with me."

She could feel him swallow.

"You were only out for a few minutes…and then you started screaming. Tell me what happened, sweetheart," he coaxed. "It must have been a doozy of a nightmare."

"I was paralyzed, and they burned me alive," she gasped, fresh tears squeezing from her swollen eyes into his shirt. She sat up to wipe her face and Red immediately handed her a piece of paper towel. When she was finished she curled back up against him, she was rubbing her scar.

"Who burned you alive?" he rumbled, rubbing her back and arms..

"All of them…Kressler, Connolly, Cooper…everyone I've ever hurt. I could feel myself burning, but I deserved it…Oh Red," she sobbed. "I've done so many horrible things to so many people…what am I going to do? I can't live like this! I feel sick all the time…I'm so guilty,I can't breathe!"

"It gets easier," he soothed. "I'm sorry, I know it's ten times worse being stuck down here with nothing to distract yourself, forced to sit and stew, but it will get easier."

She wrapped her arms around his torso and hugged him back as tightly as he was holding her.

"You're all I have left," she confessed into his shoulder. "Red, please don't ever leave me. I know I'm a complete mess right now…"

"Is that what you dreamed?" he hissed, aghast. "That I left you? You were screaming for me to help you, and I wouldn't?"

She nodded into his chest, "You said even you had your limits…that I was beyond help…"

"That would never happen," Red cut her off immediately. "You're stuck with me. And you're a mess right now because you're a good person, and you wouldn't feel this terrible if you weren't a good person. I will always come for you, Elizabeth." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, held her tighter and repeated himself more fiercely, "I will always come for you."

"I know," Liz sighed in relief. "I know you will. It was just a dream."

He held her for as long as she needed, and she held him back. After a time, she let go, and so did he.

"I knew there would be dreams," she shook her head. "Was I really screaming?"

"Yes," Red looked haunted. She felt a sudden stab of empathy.

"Do you ever have dreams like that?"

Red watched her carefully for a moment, then nodded affirmatively. A muscle twitched in his cheek, and Liz knew the truth, having herself accused him numerous times before of being unable to let anyone get close to him, of being damaged. She winced to think of it now. She imagined him waking up, night after night, just as she had—shaking and terrified, each time in a new place, each time reminded that, even for a man like Raymond Reddington, some things just can't be escaped or forgotten.

But in the next minute his face cleared—one of his many mercurial mood changes—and he quipped, "Sometimes Dembe holds me after."

Liz couldn't help but chuckle at the image.

"It's true, Lizzie. He smooths my furrowed brow and spoons me so tenderly for a straight man."

Liz laughed again.

"Oh Dembe…I miss him," she sighed suddenly. "He's always so steady."

"He'll meet up with us on the next leg of our journey, and you can tell him that yourself…I believe he would relish the compliment," Red sighed.

"I'll make a point of it," Liz nodded, laughing a little to herself at the track the conversation had taken. She looked around, realizing that only minutes before they had both been having a perfectly nice time. It figured, she thought. The second she relaxed was the moment everything had to go to shit.

"Let's get ready for bed," Red suggested, bringing her back to the present. "I'll clean up out here. You use the bathroom first."

Liz did as he suggested, brushing the chocolate out of her teeth and putting on her new favorite sweatpants to sleep in. When she walked out, Red had tidied everything away and placed her pillow back on her bed. He moved past her to the bathroom and patted her shoulder kindly as he went by.

Liz crawled into her own bed. It was cold and unappealing. Being over here by herself almost felt like a punishment. It was…lonely. She repressed a shudder and wondered how she was possibly going to sleep tonight…what other horrors were lurking in her subconscious?

And she had seen the look on Red's face when he had spoken of her screaming. It had scared him, she could tell, and yet he had been so understanding, so comforting. She felt guilty for scaring him like that, and even guiltier to know that she would likely do it again at some point in the near future.

There was definitely no way she was sleeping alone tonight.

Red would be out of the bathroom soon. She had only a split second to make her move. Grabbing her pillow and the spare blanket Red had returned to the shelf. Liz ran over to his bed and jumped on top of it. She sat cross-legged with the blanket and the pillow in her lap and waited, hopefully.

Red emerged from the bathroom in a t-shirt and some sweat pants. She wondered briefly is this was what he normally wore to bed, or if he did it for her benefit—a small acknowledgement of their shared living environment. He saw her sitting on his bed and stopped in his tracks.

"Hi," she gulped.

"Hello," he replied, walking towards her, his expression perplexed.

"I…thought we could finish the book," she blurted. It wasn't untrue, but it wasn't why she was sitting on his bed, and worse, he knew it.

"Did your pillow and blanket want to finish the book too?" he clucked his tongue at her and tilted his head.

"Maybe," she muttered, feeling incredibly stupid. What the hell was she doing? She looked over at her bed in the corner. She should just get up, get back into it, and quit humiliating herself. Was she really so desperate for comfort and physical contact that she would crawl into bed with Red?

Well, yes. Especially if it was Red.

She looked up at him, ready to make her case.

"Red…" she began, but he stopped her, holding up his hand, his expression thoughtful. Without a word, he turned and finished tidying up, speaking to her as he did so.

"You don't have to explain Lizzie—If you don't want to sleep alone, you're welcome to stay with me."

She breathed a sigh of relief, so glad he understood and grateful he wasn't going to embarrass her for being so needy.

She watched him, sitting Indian-style under her blanket, as he turned off all of the lights except one—he left the bathroom light on as a night light. Coming back to his bedside, he handed her a flashlight and the book.

"Well," he swallowed, looking slightly at a loss. He hesitated for a moment, then took her pillow and set it up next to his. He pulled back one corner of his blanket and sheets. "Would you prefer to stay above or beneath the covers?"

"Um, above, I think," she said.

"Very well," he responded casually, then got into the bed, playfully kicking her under the blanket until she moved over and allowed him to get settled. He lay on his back as close to the edge of the bed as was comfortable, and she wedged herself between his prone body and the wall. "It's a bit snug," he murmured to her airily. "Are you sure you don't want to get under the covers?" His tone held just the slightest bit of innuendo. She slapped his shoulder lightly, then curled up into his side. He pulled his covers out from under her gently, so she wouldn't pin him down if she decided to move, and he covered her up with her blanket.

They lay like that for a moment, each adjusting to the the other's close proximity, pretending as though this level of physicality was normal for them both, and not something that had just manifested in the last 48 hours.

She could hear his every breath, feel his chest expand and deflate next to her. She thought she would maybe be able to sleep in this situation, but she had been so wrong…even just lying next to him was electric.

Eventually he smiled and looked over at her. She could just make out his rueful expression.

"My blanket smells like chocolate," he sighed as though the universe had let him down.

"Oh?" she asked, laughing a little. "We can trade blankets if you want,"

"No, thank-you…I just hope we don't get ants."

Liz smiled and shook her head at Red worrying about ants. He smiled with her, but after a moment, his face changed

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice just above a whisper. She looked into his eyes and could not look away. "Are you afraid to sleep?"

"Terrified," she breathed.

Red nodded. He knew.

"It's going to be okay. Just let the dreams come. You have to sleep…Go to sleep, Lizzie," he commanded her. "Lie down, close your eyes. I'll be right here. You're safe. Your mind needs to work through everything you've just experienced…Dreams are a part of that process."

"I know that, Red," she sighed. "It doesn't make the process any easier to endure."

"I'll be right here," he repeated.

She shook her head again, but muttered, "Okay."

They both lay down and waited for sleep to find them. In their silence the noise of the open bar overhead became more prominent. Liz knew she was supposed to be sleeping, or at least trying to, but she couldn't. With the air of a child asking for another story before bedtime, Liz spoke aloud a thought that had just occurred to her:

"Wouldn't it be funny if Ressler and Cooper were up there having a drink right now?"

"Commiserating in their complete and utter failure to track us down?" Red caught on immediately and chuckled.

"What do you think they'd be saying?" she stage-whispered into the semi-dark.

"I can't believe they got away!" Red mimicked Ressler's brash tendency for overstatement. "I'm so mad!"

"Well, I thought I was dying, and now I'm not!" Liz adopted Agent Cooper's deep tones. "Let's drink cheap beer and shoot our F.B.I. guns to celebrate!"

"Oh yeah! I love cheap beer and guns," Red's version of Ressler had now taken on a frat boy quality. "Cheap beer and bullets, man! Go, America!"

It was hard to say which one of them was laughing harder, the tiny bed shaking with their combined mirth. Eventually, Liz sighed, and just smiled up at the ceiling. When things were right again, they would all go out for a drink together, and Liz promised herself she would think of this moment and be grateful to be reunited with her friends and not hiding under the floorboards from them.

Then, suddenly she remembered that she would probably never get to work with Ressler and Cooper or anyone again, and she was on the run, and that they all viewed her as the enemy now.

The realization kicked her in the gut.

Red immediately sensed her change in mood. He reached down for the flashlight and the book.

"Tuck in here," he offered, putting his arm around her and pushing their pillows into a more supportive position. "Hold this," he gave her the flashlight. He opened Huckleberry Finn and continued to read aloud. She noted that he had marked the place where they left off with a makeshift bookmark made from a folded piece of paper, like he planning on them finishing it together.

As he read, she settled in. Too soon, her eyes were drooping, and she couldn't keep holding the light properly. Several times she felt herself start to fade and woke herself up out of fear. Each time she repositioned the flashlight and pretended to adjust her position. Red simply kept reading as though he hadn't noticed, but she knew he did and was grateful for the pretense

She wasn't sure how she would have responded, had their roles been reversed and he were the one crying out…but then again, he said he had the dreams too—it was entirely possible that it might be her turn to wake him and comfort him in the near future.

How had he said it? Dembe would "smooth his furrowed brow" and "spoon" him? Liz snorted. She wasn't sure her spooning Red would calm him, exactly.

"What is it?" he whispered.

"I was just wondering how I would respond if you came to me, said you had a nightmare, and asked to sleep in my bed," she chuckled. "And also asked for a bedtime story."

"Oh that's easy," Red rumbled against her back, turning a page to the alluded story. "You would have kicked me out," his tone was rueful.

"Maybe," Liz shook her head in the dark, serious for a moment. "But I don't think I would have…not if I heard you scream, like you heard me."

Red sighed, not wanting to be reminded of that sound. So instead, he deflected.

"I try to never scream my own name in bed, Lizzie. It's just rude," he whispered wickedly, right into her ear.

"Oh, see? Now this is why I would have kicked you out!" she elbowed him playfully in the ribs.

"If you're this violent in your own bed, I might have left voluntarily," Red huffed. Liz rolled her eyes and tapped the unread page in front of them. Obligingly, Red continued to read, heaving a dramatic sigh as he did. She grinned and tucked herself against him again.

Liz was fully asleep in moments.

=============

She was paralyzed again. Always paralyzed, always unable to act when the moment was right. She struggled to move, but her body had betrayed her.

Before her were four prisoners, each in their own spotlight, kneeling on the concrete, burlap bags over their faces, hands behind their heads. They were lined up neatly before her, almost like presents, almost like a stage show…live theater.

"We have a little something in mind for all of you," Tom Connelly's ghostly voice sang out from behind her, his inflection exactly as it was before Liz pulled the trigger. He stepped out from behind her and made his way towards the first prisoner. He was bleeding from where Liz had shot him, and he left a trail of his blood wherever he moved. With the air of a magician making a stunning reveal, he pulled the hood from Agent Navabi's head. Down the line he went. Aram was next, then Ressler, then Cooper. They were all gagged and mouths sealed with duct tape. There would be no screaming this time.

"Leave them alone!" she cried. "They didn't kill you, it was me! Please, let them go!"

No one on the team made a sound, but their eyes…oh god, their eyes. They were begging, pleading with her, and she was powerless to help them. "Im so sorry," she tried to tell them, but they only cried, and continued to stare at her.

"You're right, Agent Keen," Tom Connolly mocked her. "It was you. You killed me, and when you pulled that trigger, you killed all of them too," he held out his arms. Then, he circled around and approached her, gun in hand. She tried to shy away, but her limbs were dead hunks of flesh.

"They're not dead. I didn't kill them," she growled.

"Maybe not yet," Connolly bent down and crooned into her ear, "but you will…you're on opposite sides now, girly, and everything you do now puts them in harm's way. It's only a matter of time."

He took his gun and carefully wiped it clean with a bloody handkerchief he pulled from the breast pocket of his suit. She could see the bullet wound in his chest gush as he bent down and placed the bloody gun in her hand.

"If you have any sort of compassion at all, you'll put them out of their misery now, Agent Keen. You don't want to watch what I'll do to them if you refuse."

She tried to turn and point the gun at Connelly, but she couldn't. Her hand had become it's own being, and she could feel her index finger squeezing the trigger almost to the breaking point. It was pointed at Samar.

"Please don't make me do this," she begged. "They're innocent, this is wrong!"

She was fighting her own hand. Trying to drop the gun, trying to escape and do anything besides shoot her friends.

"Stop it!" she hissed. "I won't do this!"

"Very well," Connelly stood up, and suddenly her hand went limp. "Then I'll have to do this."

He took the gun from her, marched over to Samar and grabbed her by her hair, fisting his hand into it painfully and throwing her to the ground. Liz screamed.

Suddenly, two shots rang out. Connelly dropped to the ground next to a weeping Samar, and Red stepped into the light, casting a long, dangerous shadow with his fedora and dark trench coat.

"Red," she gasped in relief.

"I'm here, Lizzie. I'm right here," he stepped over to her, took her hand, and looked into her face. The terrible scene before her vanished, and suddenly she could move again.

"Where are we?" she whispered, flinging herself into his arms and holding him tightly, feeling herself crying in sharp relief, having only been horrified seconds before.

"Someplace safe," came the reply, and it was true. Wherever Red was, she was safe, she knew.

"Thank you," she sighed. And then, she kissed him.

It wasn't the first time Liz had dreamed about Red like this, but it was the most vivid. This time, he kissed her back, ferociously—his mouth warm and pliant on hers. She could feel him, real and solid against her, and smell his cologne. It was so intense, she buried her face against his neck and inhaled, high on the sheer pleasure of it, and when he did not protest, she used her teeth and mouth to do some fine work on the sensitive spot just above his collarbone.

"Lizzie," his tone was hesitant.

"Hmmm?" she continued to nibble at his neck, then soothe the small nips with her tongue.

"Lizzie," he tried again, a little louder, tinged with equal parts arousal and desperation. "You're killing me!"

"Shhh," she hushed him, continuing her work on the soft parts of his neck. She moved one hand down over the hard muscles of his chest as he moaned,

"Please, Lizzie…"

She pressed her hand over his heart, then moved down over the softness of his stomach. He was trying to stop her with his hands, trying to push her away, but undeterred, she fumbled with the waistband of his pants.

"Elizabeth!" he finally yelled, and Liz felt her eyes snap open.

Red was starring at her, eyes dark with arousal, but his expression pained.

"Red, wha…" she started to stutter, barely awake enough to register that she was lying half on top of him. One of her legs was slung over his, and she could feel that he was hard beneath her inner thigh. She started to move away and felt him twitch under her at the friction of it. The sweetest sigh escaped his mouth automatically, and she felt the answering throb between her legs. She was so wet, she suddenly realized. She looked up at Red, struggling to make sense of it all, sheer mortification stopping her heart when she saw little the red mark on his neck.

"I tried to stop you, Lizzie, I swear," he gasped, and she could hear that he was almost laughing. "but you were so persistent…"

"Oh my god!" she cried, practically leaping over him to escape from the bed, conscious more the ever of the pool of liquid warmth in her panties and the flame of her embarrassment. "Shut up!"

She ran straight for the bathroom and slammed the door behind her. 


	5. Chapter Five - Day Three, Part One

She couldn't stay in here forever, she knew, but she wasn't sure what else to do.

Liz stood in front of the mirror, bracing her hands on the sink and attempting to get ahold of herself. She replayed the scene over and over again in her mind, the taste of his skin still in her mouth, and the memory of the feeling of him hard beneath her dancing through her brain. She was alarmed by the intensity of her desire for him, wanting his hands all over her, wanting to hear him make those little sounds like he had when she brushed against him…though judging by the state of her underwear, she had done a whole lot more than brush against him. They were definitely ruined, sodden with her fluids, as though she had been grinding on him, half straddling his leg…oh god.

She was mortified at the image of herself, and she was terrified of what Red was thinking of the whole affair…they were going to have to talk about this, she was going to have to face it somehow…but first, she needed to shower and to clear her head, and perhaps do something to relive the ache between her legs. She could not have this conversation with Red, much less face him, while she was this aroused. And as for the panties…well, she would have to throw those away without Red seeing…there was no way she could send them up to Eli to wash, and no way for her to rinse them and dry them down here—Red would know exactly what she was doing and she was already embarrassed enough.

And of course, her clean clothing was all out there…with him, which meant that in order to enact the plan, she would have to run out there, grab her bag, and run back in to the tiny sanctuary of the bathroom.

What was he thinking right now? Even more distressing, what was he doing out there right now? As wet as her panties were, that's how hard he'd been, tucked up against the soft, sensitive part of her inner thigh. Liz blushed and burned at the memory of it. Was Red suffering the same dull, unfulfilled ache she was feeling as blood slowly drained from her sex, or was he taking advantage of the privacy afforded him while she was in here and finishing up what she'd started? Maybe she should go out there and help him finish the job?

Jesus, no! Liz screamed at herself, this is too important! Shower first! Then talk!

She steeled herself and opened the bathroom door determinedly. Half covering her face with her hand—so as not to make eye contact with Red as she exited the bathroom or witness any unseemly act he might be performing on himself at this very moment—Liz power-walked to her bedside.

Unfortunately for her, he was up, he was making coffee, and he was sinfully handsome and simultaneously adorable in his pajama bottoms and soft t-shirt. She strategically avoided taking in any glimpse of his groin area.

"Lizzie…" he called out to her.

"Hold on, Red" she said to her bag as she gathered a few items. "Shower first, then talk!" she repeated her mantra to him.

"Would you like coffee?" he called after her as she scampered back to the bathroom with her things.

"You know I would!" she called back. "Thanks!" and she closed the door.

She threw on the spray as hot as she could stand it, stepped in, and scoured herself fully, taking away as much of his smell and taste as possible, doing her best to flush it from her system. Once she was clean, she quickly reached between her legs to attempt to take care of her other problem. Even under the scalding spray, she was still slick, and as she leaned against the wall of the shower, fingers working furiously on her clit, she knew this was only the beginning…it felt far too good to do this and think of Red. With a sinking feeling, she knew this would never be enough…if he came after her, she wasn't going to be able to say "No." And she should really, probably say no…at least for now.

When she came, it was a pale imitation of what she imagined the real thing would be like with Red, but it did ease some of the fog in her mind. It was enough for her to actually think of reasons why she should avoid exploring this aspect of their relationship, the two most prominent the first being their precarious situation on the run as fugitives, and the second being that she was emotionally compromised, probably suffering from PTSD and starting something with Red was too risky. The needed to be smart right now, they needed to be on their guard, they needed to stay focused. People were trying to hunt them both down and kill them…this was not the time to be caught up in an infatuation.

She dried and dressed quickly, not wanting to prolong the inevitable.

Red was sitting at the table, but as soon as she exited the bathroom, he rose and grabbed his duffel bag. He pressed a hot mug of coffee into her hands as he brushed past her.

"Red?" she called after him, confused.

"Bathroom first, then talk!" he called out, repeating a variation of her mantra.

She winced, realizing she had unthinkingly monopolized the only usable toilet in the vicinity since they'd woken up, and was not in the least bit offended when Red practically slammed the door closed behind him.

Now it was her turn to wait. She drank her coffee and had another bowl of cereal for breakfast, noting that Red had politely returned her pillow to its own bed and neatly made his own—like a crime scene scrubbed clean by Mr. Kaplan, no one would ever be able to discern what treacherous activities had taken place on that side of the room, Liz smirked. She heard the shower turn on and hoped she had left Red enough hot water. In the meantime, she poured another coffee.

The television was a welcome distraction. It was still early enough in the day for the morning news shows, so Liz watched, absorbed. She didn't hear when the shower went off, but she did hear when Red emerged from the bathroom. Keeping her eyes glued to the TV, she waited until he was next to the table before she looked over at him…and snorted with laughter.

He was wearing a V-necked t-shirt—the bastard. Liz knew there had to be several options in his bag to choose from, just as there were in hers, but of course Red had chosen the one shirt that would proudly, obviously display the mark she'd left on his neck, just above his collarbone.

Liz unsuccessfully struggled to contain her laughter and hide her grin in her hands as he sat down and nonchalantly poured the remainder of the french press into his own mug. He stared her down, completely unabashed, sipping daintily at his coffee and twisting his head ever so slightly this way and that so as to display her handiwork.

"Really?" she sputtered, shaking her head at him, sides heaving.

"I'm sorry?" Red was the picture of innocence, perfectly straight-faced, except for the mirth dancing in his eyes. "I don't follow."

"You know exactly what you're doing," she tried to glower at him, but it was not effective. His eyes locked with hers, and she could see he was struggling not to laugh. "Red…" she squeaked, trying to admonish him, but it was too funny, and her laughter overcame her again.

Red was grinning ear to ear, clearly pleased at her response.

"You look ridiculous," she gasped. It wasn't so much the shirt as it was his attitude—like he was proud of the mark, as though it were a piece of fine artwork.

"I'm just glad to be evened out," he grumbled ruefully. "I can't say I understand your penchant for marking up my neck, Lizzie."

Liz was immediately chagrined. Her eyes moved instinctively to the spot on his neck where she knew there to be a small white scar where she had once, in what seemed like a lifetime ago, punched a little silver pen through his carotid artery. Red caught the direction of her gaze and tilted his head until his face was in her line of sight.

"That was a joke," he qualified. She nodded in acknowledgement but then shook her head.

"I just can't believe I did that," she sighed.

"Which one?" Red asked innocently, then smiled wickedly at the look of annoyance she fixed on him.

"The first one," she growled. "Though I'm starting to remember why I did it…"

"Go on," Red chuckled, leaning back in his chair

"I mean, now, it would seem so…disrespectful, so cruel, to do that to you. I really didn't care at that point, or even know you…and look at all that's happened since then…it's just a stark reminder of how things change, and how first impressions can be deceiving."

"Yes," Red agreed solemnly, nodding. Then his expression shifted and he laughed to himself.

"What?" Liz asked.

"I was just considering the irony of it," he chucked and touched his neck. " A mark this side because you wanted to cause me pain, and a mark on this side to give me pleasure…I believe you've atoned for your sins, sweetheart," he cocked his head at her, tongue behind his teeth, teasing her mercilessly. "They'll cancel each other out."

Liz blushed again, burning with shame. "Good," she quipped defensively, sarcastically. "Because, I was so worried about that, you know."

"Well, I'm glad we could resolve this amicably," Red sighed. "Though it may be prudent for you to sleep in your own bed going forward, Lizzie, or next time I might leave one of these on you." He pointed to the developing hickey on his neck, his expression only humorous, not lecherous.

And there it was…a way out. Red was extending an olive branch, an opportunity to laugh the incident off and move forward without causing either of them embarrassment. She was so relieved, she didn't consider the implications of such a plan.

"Deal," she agreed. After all, she had been asleep, and she hadn't known what she was doing. She said as much to Red and he settled in to watch the news with her.

"Oh Lizzie," he rumbled deliciously, looking her straight in the eye. "You know exactly what you're doing," he winked as her in jest even as he twisted her words from earlier, and honestly the comment wasn't any different or more scandalous than any of his usual dirty quips to her…No, the difference was in her unexpected response, or rather, her body's response.

She suddenly couldn't breathe, and it seemed every ounce of her blood rushed downward to swell between her legs. The sound of his voice, low and teasing, combined with the memory of him , hard and so warm, pressed right against her…oh, she was in trouble.

Be cool, She thought, rolling her eyes at Red as she normally would at such a comment, managing to shift in her chair in a completely natural manner to accommodate the sudden rush of arousal and overwhelming desire to jump on him and lick that spot on his neck just once more…

But that would be stupid. And she was stupid to think Red would even appreciate her jumping on him like an over-eager puppy. She might be all hot and bothered over their encounter, but he clearly wasn't…Oh god, what he must have been thinking as she did those things to him! She remembered how frantically he had tried to wake her, and how she had simply continued to molest him. She was suddenly mortified and humbled—Of course he would want to laugh it off, of course he wouldn't attempt to entice her to a repeat performance; Red understood what was at stake here, and furthermore, she was foolish to think that her half-conscious gropings would be anything but amusing to him.

And the worst part of it all was how queerly disappointed she felt. She wanted to experience him, fully awake and aware of her every action and his every response. She had been so stupid to imagine Red would want to cross that boundary with her ever, and especially not under these circumstances.

After a few minutes of watching the news and seeing with some relief that they were no longer the breaking headline on every station, she cleaned up her mug and cereal dishes, taking Red's along with hers as he murmured his thanks. His fingers brushed against hers as he passed his mug. She was surprised to see him react as though he'd been electrocuted, pulling his hand away from hers immediately.

She ignored the gesture, moving smoothly to the bathroom to rinse the dishes in the sink before putting them in the tub on the shelf. That was exactly what she needed right now—Red flinching away from her like she was repulsive.

Maybe she could get away with drinking and sleeping away the rest of their time together in this hole. Things would have to get better once they were out of this place, and she had something else to focus on

The dishes taken care of, Lizzie moved over to the wine shelf. Under Red's gaze, she grabbed a bottle of white, a wine glass, then snagged one of the decks of cards. She dumped the items on her bed, grabbed the wine opener and uncorked the bottle. She poured herself an indecorously large glass of whatever it was—she hadn't bothered to look, and what did it matter?—then settled in on her own bed and began laying out the cards for a game of solitaire.

"Starting a bit early, aren't we?" Red rumbled disapprovingly.

"What else is there to do?" She sighed. "You're welcome to join me," she raised her glass in a mock cheers and took a gulp. Red shook his head disapprovingly, but Liz didn't notice or care. She was suddenly angry with him—irrationally she knew, but she couldn't seem to help it.

She sipped at her wine, not wanting to get trashed and further embarrass herself—but not wanting to be sober either, and played hand after hand of solitaire. Liz willed her mind to shut out everything except the cards in front of her and the feeling of the warmth of the alcohol in her blood.

For a while it worked. She looked up at Red only once to see what he was doing and found he was finishing Huckleberry Finn. She frowned, wishing instantly that they could finish it together with her tucked in against him, they way she had been just the night before. She missed the physical comfort he offered her, and she was annoyed at loss of it. She put her eyes back on her cards and sighed.

What could have been minutes, but was likely hours later, Red finished the book, snapped it shut, and rose from his bed. Liz looked up and watched him make a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich. He smeared a large amount of both condiments on each slice of bread, then cut the sandwich in half. He bit into one half, savored it, then offered her the other half, which she accepted gratefully.

"This pairs really well," she offered weakly, holding her almost-empty wineglass in one hand and the sandwich in the other. Red smirked. He picked up the bottle from the table and cocked his head at her, silently asking if she wanted a refill. She nodded, and he took the glass from her, poured a reasonable amount of wine into it, and handed it back. Seeing an opportunity, She made sure to brush as much of her hand as she could get away with against his as she took the glass from him, only to have him recoil and let go far too soon.

The glass fell to the floor and shattered. Wine splashed everywhere. Red immediately moved to grab paper towel and sop up the mess.

"What happened?" she cried, stepping out of the way.

"Sorry about that," he covered smoothly. "I thought you had it."

"That's not why you let go," she started picking up chunks of glass. "I get that I crossed a line, and you don't want to touch me, but you don't have to treat me like leper, Red."

A muscle in his cheek twitched, but he said nothing as he continued to collect smaller pieces of glass up off the floor.

"What—is that not it?" she pressed. "What then? You're a steadier shot than I am, even when you've been drinking. You don't drop things Red," she put the last few shards into a paper towel and continued to mop up the floor. He continued to do the same, maintaining a stony silence.

"Are you angry with me?" she didn't think so, but maybe it would provoke a response. He said nothing, so she tried humor."Do you really hate white wine this much?" There! A small smile.

"Lizzie," he was trying to wave her off. "It was an accident."

"Yes, but why?" she continued. "Do you have PTSD now too? Is it because I molested you? I'm sorry, Red," she was laughing a little now, having blown the premise to ridiculous proportions. He was smiling along with her while watching her carefully. She stood, holding her paper towel full of glass shards, and moved to the trash can to dispose of them "I especially didn't mean to leave marks behind," she added with a smirk. "No wonder you're traumatized—I'm sure it was torture for you…"

She dropped the glass shards and paper towel into the trash and turned around just in time to see him come at her.

Without warning, Red pressed her back against the nearest wall with some force and held her there with the length of his own body. "Red!" she squeaked, trying to read the dark expression on his face. His hands merely closed like vices around her upper arms, and he held her to the wall

"It is torture!" he hissed directly into her ear before burying his face into her neck and inhaling deeply. "Jesus, Elizabeth," she felt his lips and his breath ghosting over the most sensitive part of her neck as he said the words. It was all she could do to not rub up against him reflexively in response. "All I can think about is your mouth on me, and your hand reaching for my cock," he shifted against her again, and she felt his erection pressing into her hip. The sensation made her moan—a sweet, needy little sound—and suddenly Red's warm velvet mouth was on hers, hard, demanding, trying his damnedest to swallow that little sound up.

She tried to kiss him back, but the second her lips moved against his, he leapt away from her as though he had been burned.

"Torture," he choked out, his eyes locked with hers. "Because we both know this can't happen."


	6. Chapter Six - Day Three, Part Two

The reviews for this story are seriously some of the nicest I've ever received. Many thanks and appreciations.

* * *

She was clinging to him, trying to pull him back to her, but he moved away determinedly, his mouth set. She was killing him, for god's sake. How was he going to endure this?

He went straight to the shelves and procured the scotch and a glass for himself. He paused momentarily and plucked up another wine glass for Liz as well. She hadn't moved from where he had kissed her against the wall. He didn't look at her, but rush of pleasure burned through him at the thought of it. He immediately tilted the scotch to his mouth and let nearly three fingers of it slide down his throat in one delicious, burning swallow. He needed to be dulled—to calm his enflamed senses and numb the memory of her sweet, sweet mouth on his. God, he shouldn't have kissed her…now he could think of nothing else, and it was going to ruin him.

Liz quietly slid into the seat across the table from him and accepted the fresh glass of wine he offered her. It was two in the afternoon, she realized. If they kept up this pace, they were both going to pass out before dinner. Shrugging, she took a healthy swig from her glass and committed to her fate.

Every part of her was humming. She knew Red was likely about to lecture her, calmly, on why they shouldn't start fooling around while locked down here together, and they were likely to be very good, sane, reasonable arguments, perhaps similar to the ones she herself had worked out earlier that morning; however, things changed the second he'd pressed her up against that wall and kissed her. Did he really think he could just walk away from her like that? Her nervous system was on fire, her entire body ached with un-sated lust and need—and for now, she was content to let it burn, because in acting as he had, Red had tipped his hand.

He hadn't meant to, of course, but now she had no doubt the he wanted her just as much as she wanted him, and that knowledge gave her a rush of power and excitement too euphoric to resist. Consequences be damned, there would never be a more opportune time to explore her feelings for Red than now. They had over four more days to spend locked down here alone together, and she was going to use that time well, Liz chuckled a little to herself.

She could feel Red looking at her, so she straightened and met his gaze unflinchingly. He faltered the slightest bit.

"Lizzie," he began somewhat trepidatiously. "You must realize that there couldn't be a worse possible time for us to begin exploring…" he waved one hand about in a nebulous gesture, searching for a word while Liz leaned back in her chair and openly enjoyed his efforts to make a case. "The alternative avenues of our partnership…"

"Partnership?" Liz grinned as she questioned his word choice, her eyes never leaving his face.

"Relationship," he conceded, clearly flustered by her nonchalant response to his very serious attempt to draw a line in the sand. Liz raised her wine glass in approval and took another swig.

"That's true," she agreed thoughtfully, looking up to the ceiling.

"It's highly likely that once we're out of here, you would feel very differently about the…events…that would transpire…"

"You mean sex?" she asked with a small smile, bluntly enough to catch him off guard, but matter-of-factly enough to allow him to believe she was simply clarifying his purposeful ambiguity. "You think I would regret it?"

"I think you're having difficult time, and you're looking for a distraction," he clarified.

"Well, sex is a natural coping mechanism for stress," she justified.

"Lizzie," he paused, his eyes searching her face. "I think we both know it wouldn't be just sex."

She sobered a little and sat up. He was right. This could never be the strings-free, casual fling kind of thing. She havered, unsure if she was was simply acting out in response to her new identity and present circumstances, or if she was finally taking advantage of an unexpected opportunity to act on her attraction to Red without having to figure out how their work would fit in to the mix.

"You're right," she nodded slowly, acknowledging the truth of his words. "It wouldn't be."

"And right now, it's not the smart thing to do," he told her gently. "For a lot of reasons." Then suddenly he grew very serious. "Elizabeth, under these circumstances, I would be taking advantage of you, and I'm not going to do that."

"Is that really how you see it?" she frowned and shook her head. If anything it was the other way around. She felt like she was taking advantage of him.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"What if it doesn't feel that way to me?" she scowled. "What if I still want to explore the alternative avenues?"

"Lizzie," he growled warningly, and she straightened.

"Hey, don't be annoyed at me Red—I didn't just kiss myself up against that wall over there!" she huffed. "I had no idea you were such a tease…"

"Enough," his voice was almost hoarse with something akin to shame. "Elizabeth, please don't…"

"Fine, fine," she held her hands up in the traditional gesture of surrender, sensing he was at a breaking point, knowing she could afford to bide her time and wear him down slowly. She rose from the table and sat back down on her bed with her glass of wine and game of solitaire. "I'm over here now, see?"

She made a small show of going back to her game, and a few moments later, Red selected another novel from the shelf and settled back down on his own bed. Liz waited until he stopped shifting about, then took an opportunity to sneak a glance over at him.

Her eyes moved purposefully over his form, and she imagined what he would be like under all of those clothes—would it be possible to unbutton that shirt with her teeth? Would he would loose it if she did?—and as she reminisced explicitly about how certain parts of him had felt pressed up against certain parts of herself, she felt his eyes suddenly shift towards her. Guilty of being caught staring, she met his glance shamefaced and looked back down at her cards quickly. When she looked back up, his eyes were back on the book, but his mouth was pulled into a small smirk.

A few safe minutes later, she took the time to study his face, knowing he could catch her at any moment, not caring this time if he did. She admired the slender curves of his lips and the aristocratic arch of his nose in profile. Her gaze moved down to his hands on the book. She admired his strong fingers and nails, clean and neatly manicured. They were big hands, but she had seen what delicate, finite work they could do. She blushed and smiled to herself, then felt Red's eyes on her once more. She met his gaze and grinned, even while he looked at her suspiciously and discouragingly. His distress at her obvious appraisal of him amused her to no end, and she had to suppress a tiny laugh as he pointedly looked away from her and back to his book.

Deciding she wanted to provoke him (just a little!), she returned to her cards and pretended to be absorbed in them until she was certain he refocused on the book. Then lightening-quick, she turned her whole body towards him , leaned forward, and focused on him intensely, purposefully, eyes huge, trembling with repressed laughter. There was an immediate change in his expression as he suppressed his own laughter.

"Stop it," he commanded, chuckling, not looking at her.

"Stop what?" she queried, all sweetness and innocence.

"I can feel you staring at me," he grumbled, still not looking at her.

"You can feel me staring at you? That makes no sense, Red," she smirked.

"You know what you're doing, Elizabeth," he countered, finally looking over at her.

"What am I doing, Red?"

"Lizzie," he groaned in exasperation. "We just went over this," he sat up and and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Please don't make this any harder than it has to be."

"From what I felt, I didn't think it could get much harder," she shot back wickedly, enjoying the look of surprise on his face. Then his expression changed, deepened with lust, and she licked her suddenly dry lips.

"You would be right," he muttered darkly, half to himself, and Liz felt her heart jump. "But that doesn't change anything."

"It does though," she muttered back almost petulantly.

"Enough!" his tone brokered no argument. "Please, Lizzie…" Then he sighed as though under duress, rested his elbows on his knees, and put his head into his hands.

Liz was suddenly offended by his demeanor. She had never considered Red a hypocrite before, but she felt it nothing short of insulting for him to behave as though sleeping with her would be some heinous act only a monster would commit, when mere minutes prior he had been grinding his hard-on into her hip. She understood his rationale for not wanting to get involved—it was nothing she hadn't considered herself—but there was no need for him to act like such a martyr about it.

Why couldn't he just say that he wanted her too? Where was the sweet, touching mutual declaration of feelings? Not happening—Straight to the doom and gloom.

She pulled her feet back up onto her bed and let him have his dramatic moment of silence, looking back to her cards and rolling her eyes. It hurt to have her honest, if admittedly nascent feelings brushed aside and treated as though the only reasons she could possibly have them were due to recent traumatic experiences. How condescending, she thought.

Wow, condescending and hypocritical in the last minute. Maybe it was actually a good thing Red was rejecting her advances.

And who the hell was he to be shaking his head at her like that anyway? Since when did Raymond Reddington have the moral capital to be all high and mighty over her? All for just having the apparently galling impetus to have sex? With him? When he wanted it too? The horror.

She jumped up abruptly and poured another glass of wine. Red startled and looked up, but she ignored him and flopped back down on her bed.

Why couldn't anything ever be simple with him? Why couldn't it ever be easy? Why did he always withhold and pull away from her even when she knew he wanted to let go. It was always like this. Every time. She recalled how he had berated her after she saved his life in that back room after being auctioned off like an object. She had wanted to tell him then, wanted to hold him then. She had heard him say her name—his last word with a gun to the back of his skull. She knew then that there was so much more

But, of course, before she had even had a chance to reflect on it, to talk with him about it, he was scolding her, chastising her for caring, making her feel stupid for it. Typical Red, he could dish it, but he couldn't take it…or at least he couldn't allow himself to take it. You are so damaged she had once told him. Red couldn't accept love or help from anyone. It was a complete waste of time to think otherwise.

She sighed deeply and started shuffling her cards. She could feel Red watching her from the other side of the room, but she refused to look at him. He had said 'enough,' and now it was up to him to break the silence, if he felt so inclined.

But he didn't say anything.

The next hour passed in agonizing quiet. She played her games while he read his book. She gnawed on her lip and blinked back the sting of unshed tears. She wished she could be alone. After awhile, she couldn't take the heavy silence anymore.

"Do you mind if I turn on the TV?" she muttered just loud enough for him to hear.

"Not at all," he replied smoothly, not looking up from his book.

She turned on the news. Then, when she was certain she had caught all of the major headlines, she switched over to some insufferable afternoon gameshow. She sat down on her bed, back against the wall, and zoned out for awhile. She didn't look at Red once.

Eventually, there was a knock overhead. It was Eli, there to make the once daily exchange of trash and dirty things for a delicious dinner and clean things. This time there were chicken pot pies and roasted potatoes, and green salads.

He handed the meal down to them along with the customary bag of fresh clothes and towels. Liz thanked him and proceeded to set up their little table for the meal. Red and Eli shared a quick, muted conversation at the top of the stair ladder, and before Liz could get a handle on what they were discussing, Eli called down "Have a good night!" before moving the sink back in to place. Liz wondered if he had any idea of what was happening down there…or what she wished was happening down there.

"Shall we?" Red made a small bow and gestured to the table. Liz nodded and sat down in the seat he pulled out for her. She thanked him and he practically danced around to the other side of the table and took his seat. "I have good news, Lizzie!" he crowed. "Our associate may be ready for us even sooner than I had anticipated. We may possibly be out of here a day or two early."

"Oh…okay," she nodded in acknowledgement. "Great."

"I thought you would be pleased," he frowned.

"I am, Red."

She began to eat mechanically. The food was good, but her mind was too full for her stomach to feel empty. She could feel Red's eyes on her, but she didn't meet his gaze. Was the Troll Maker what the whispered conversation with Eli had been about? Had Eli told Red the news, or had Red been asking Eli to push the Troll Maker along? Was this sudden change of plan motived by his new-found desire to get away from her?

She felt a stab of panic. What was going to happen once they finally got out of here? How were they going to carry out their plans to destroy the Cabal and clear her name when she couldn't figure out if she wanted to kiss him or strangle him?

And now she had even less time to figure that issue out.

"Lizzie?" Red tried again. "Is everything alright?"

He was acting like nothing was out of the ordinary, like she hadn't woken up in his bed that morning, as though they hadn't exchanged their first kiss that very day, like their bodies hadn't each been furiously aroused by the other, like he hadn't completely rejected her, pushed her away, told her she didn't have the capacity to consent and that it it would be wrong for them to enjoy one another. She felt almost cheated. It should have been better than that. These moments were years in the making, and that was how they were going to play out? Liz shook her head silently at her plate in disappointment and screwed her eyes shut until the sting of tears went away.

"I'm fine," she muttered to her potatoes.

Red watch the play of emotions across her face, took another swig of whiskey and leaned back in his chair.

"Please," he started again, and Liz was suddenly so sick of hearing him say that word. "Please, tell me what you're thinking…"

Liz sighed. What could she say?

Then, suddenly, it occurred to her that maybe she should just tell him the truth…at least some of it. If he was going to withhold, she was going to spill and just let him have it.

She looked up at him in one quick motion, fixing her gaze on his intently, purposefully, because she was going to note every twitch, tick and spasm of his expression as she spoke.

"I keep thinking about your mouth," she murmured matter-of-factly.

Red's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. "Lizzie…" he breathed, and she smirked at him.

"Your lips," she continued, "are so warm…and so soft."

"Elizabeth," he groaned. "Stop it, please…I'm begging you to let it go," he sounded as though he were in agony. She smirked again. Begging already? I'll show you torture.

"I can't let it go," she sighed in mock regret. "I can't stop thinking about how good your mouth felt on mine…"

Red made a sudden strangled sound from across the table. She glanced at him, her expression wicked and knowing. He straightened in his chair and attempted to collect himself, but she knew she had him.

She stood and as one might approach a wild animal, began to slowly make her way around the table as she spoke.

"You have no idea how good," she breathed, coming to rest at his side a few feet away, tingling with anticipation. She made no move to touch him, but she could tell he was painfully aware of her proximity. "Red…"

"Lizzie, you don't know how much I'd like to…how much I've wanted this," he started, his voice almost cracking. He looked up at her from his chair beseechingly. "But now is not the right time for us to…experiment. Tell me you understand that. You deserve so much better than this…" he gestured to their surroundings.

"Then why did you kiss me here?" she cried, throwing her hands up in exasperation at his hypocrisy.

Red sobered as he considered her words. Clearly that was not how he'd wanted their first kiss to go either. Then suddenly he frowned.

"I thought you said you liked the kiss!" he scowled at her. "Oh Red, your mouth, your lips!" he mimicked her recent words in a girlish tone, mocking her.

"Stop it! You stole our first kiss!" she cried, slapping his shoulder. "I didn't even get a chance to participate in it! That's all I could register before you pushed me away and took it all back."

Red winced and looked up at her.

"Oh Lizzie, I'm so sorry…"

"Don't be sorry," she cut him off. "Fix it. That's all I want, Red, just one moment where you kiss me and you let me reciprocate for once…just this once, please."

She heard his breath catch in his throat. He was watching her intently, considering. Then slowly, he stood, his eyes never leaving her face.

"Just this once," he growled, "and then we set the matter aside until this whole ordeal is over. Agreed?"

"Negotiation? Now?" Liz chuckled. She had every intention of eliciting a little more than just one of his kisses, every intention of doing whatever it would take to get Red to relent and loose control. For the moment, however, it was prudent to accept his small offer, to at least give the appearance of cooperation, though he was a fool if he really thought this issue wasn't going to come up again. She looked up into his face and found his expression hopeful. She smiled and nodded in agreement. "Okay."

They stood together awkwardly for a moment, the freshly mandated do-over of their first kiss hanging over their heads.

"This isn't uncomfortable at all," he quipped. She laughed and suddenly wrapped her arms around him. With her face buried in his shoulder, Red hesitantly put one hand in the small in her back and the other he fisted in her hair. "That's better. You smell very nice," he sighed, leaning in and simply holding her close.

"Thanks," she grinned into his chest. "You picked good shampoo."

"Oh, well," he hesitated. "I'll have to pass that along to my personal shopper. He's invaluable."

"Oh," Liz scoffed. "Your personal shopper, of course," she teased. "Did he pick out this v-neck?" She reached up and hooked her index finger into the tip of the neckline.

"He makes sure all of my "go-bags' are packed with whatever I'll need, yes."

"Do you think he anticipated you wearing it to show off a hickey from me?" Liz laughed against him and moved her hand from his neckline to touch the referenced mark. She passed her thumb over it lightly. He shivered and reflexively reached to take her hand away, as though the sensation were too much. Emboldened, she stood on tiptoes and placed her lips against the place Red had unwittingly exposed to her. His sudden hiss of surprise and pleasure felt like triumph to her. Ever so lightly, she ran the tip of her tongue across his skin, surprised to find she remembered the flavor of it. Red groaned deep in his throat and lightening-quick pushed her an arm's-length away roughly, his hands still griping her shoulders and upper arms.

"Lizzie!" His expression was a mixture of surprise and lust. He quirked an eyebrow at her and tilted his head, as though to give himself a better angle to assess the situation. She watched him calmly, waiting to see what he'd do, gloating a little at having provoked such a delightful response from him. He smiled suddenly and huffed a small sound of disbelief.

Gently, ever so gently, he moved his hands from her shoulders, ghosted his fingers up the sides of her neck and cupped her face. A thrill moved through her as he drew her in, his gaze intent on her mouth, his fingers entangling themselves in the strands of hair at the back of her head.

His eyes met hers briefly, checking, assessing, obtaining permission. She smiled at him and tilted her face upwards to meet his as he leaned in and brushed his mouth against hers. Once. Twice. Chaste, teasing butterfly kisses that left her feeling weak and intoxicated, and felt nothing like the passionate, bruising kiss he'd laid on her earlier.

With the third pass of his mouth, Liz reached up to put one hand on the back of his head, holding his mouth against hers, moving her lips against his, taking control of the kiss. Red moaned into her mouth and released his hold on her jaw; Liz immediately pressed her body back up against the warmth of his own. His arms closed around her, compressing her tightly against him. Her hand moved up over the back of his skull, through the peach fuzz of his hair, her fingers swirling, Then she gently scraped her nails over his scalp and down the back of his neck.

"Jesus, Lizzie!" Red jumped back as though she had electrocuted him.

"You like that, huh?" she chuckled and moved in to reclaim his lips.

"Yes," he whispered against her cheek the second her succulent mouth pulled away from his. "Far too much," He groaned.

He nuzzled his way into the curve of her neck and nibbled delicately on her flesh. She shivered and tilted her head to allow him better access, hoping he would continue on despite his having already kissed her and technically fulfilled their little deal.

He did.

Red's warm, flat tongue swept firmly over the pulse point on her neck, and she moaned unexpectedly. She felt him snort against her neck with a puff of air and she chuckled against him.

"Do you feel how good we are?" she whispered against the shell of his ear. He paused in kissing her neck to whisper up in to her ear,

"Yes."

He stepped back to study her face, his expression warm and wistful. "Remember that, Lizzie, please." he sighed. "When this is all over, and you're standing back in your own office again at the F.B.I., remember how goddamn good we are together and act accordingly."

He swept the pad of his thumb across her cheek, cupping her jawline affectionately, longingly, before stepping away from her altogether and returning to his side of the room.


	7. Chapter Seven - Day Three, Part Three

_Well…now what?_

For the rest of the night, with the sounds of the bar patrons stomping around up above, Liz pondered that question.

She cleaned up her dishes, used the bathroom, and returned to the main room. Red puttered about in more or less the same fashion. They seemed to share a mutual silent understanding of each other's need for a moment to process their most recent exchange. Liz poured another glass of wine. Red poured another scotch. She went back to her cards, he went back to his book.

Her mind was working furiously, though, committing every single sensation of the last few minutes into her memory, searing them into her brain—his sounds, his smells and tastes, textures, and style. She reveled in her newfound memories, held them up in her mind and examined them like Christmas ornaments.

Much later, she then pondered Red's every utterance, going over them again and again in her head. His words about remembering them when it was all over had nearly broken her heart. How could she NOT remember? She shivered. Liz knew there would be no going back if they did this…but of course, he was thinking for the long term—Red always had his long game in play. He was right, however, to assume that _she_ had not really thought about the long term.

Not that the prospect frightened her—Liz wasn't sure what their future held, but she was sure Red would be a part of it even after they finished their stint on the run. Would they have to keep their relationship quiet if she ever returned to the FBI? Probably. But what Red didn't understand was that she was not going back without him. That was the deal. They were going to be both reinstated, or she wasn't having it.

There was no point in telling Red this right now. He would insist, of course, that she should be the focus of their work, and he was perfectly fine with being a criminal and taking the fall. No, this would be her own mission, and it was one she would only be able to accomplish once she was reinstated. Only then could she insist that Reddington be reissued his immunity, and if they refused, she would walk. The FBI could be corrupted, but she would not be. Reddington had more than atoned for his past crimes; his immunity was only fair.

And despite the circumstances being less than ideal, they were the same circumstances that had freed her and allowed her this chance to get closer to him.

She wasn't sure how to explain to him that being here, spending this time with him, getting to know him in this intimate space, was a rare, precious experience for her, and she was cherishing it. Somehow, he made everything seem like some grand adventure—even the most mundane and dire circumstances were lightened with his presence and participation—their present situation, especially. The world was limitless when she was with him, and she didn't have to hold back anymore.

But how was she going to convince him of that?

She looked over at his side of the room. He was watching her. He didn't look away, but he did have the decency to look somewhat chagrined. Liz smiled at him, warmly at first, and then wistfully. It was a shame he was being so strident about all of this. Before she'd dream molested him, he'd let her curl up next to him, sleep in his bed. She wanted that contact again. She wanted to touch as much of him as she possibly could, for as long as he would let her.

Her expression must have changed along with the direction of her thoughts, because Red tilted his head at her, his expression adoring. She came back to the present and met his gaze. They stayed like that for a moment, each observing the other, communicating small, sweet messages with their micro-expressions. He suddenly smiled at her, put his hand beneath his chin and sighed dramatically as though he could stare at her all night. She was forced to roll her eyes and look down again at her cards, lest he realize his corny behavior was making her blush and that she actually _did_ want him to stare at her all night, and also to hide her irritation at his hypocritical flirtations—no doubt he would turn her down if she attempted to take things to the next level.

Eventually she brushed her teeth and got into her bed. She lay facing the wall, partly because Red was still reading with the lights on, and partly because it felt like privacy, even though it wasn't. She amused herself by imagining them together in Dubai and wondered what Red's safe house there would be like. He said they would be able to sit tight there for awhile and establish a base of operations. Hopefully it wouldn't be the kind of "sitting tight" they were doing here. Maybe with the change of scenery he would be a little less guarded

She dozed off fairly quickly, considering how much she had on her mind. She had no idea what time it was when someone kicked in the closet door overhead.

Instantly she was awake, terrified and scrambling to see where Red was.

He was up, gun in hand, switching off the lights quickly. She jumped up and grabbed her own weapon from it's holster. The bathroom light was still on, and it was just enough for Liz to see Red run to her and reach for her in the dark. She grabbed his proffered hand and he pulled her along behind him and they moved into place behind the staircase. Red positioned himself in front and in harm's way, just as he had before.

"Hey man!" they heard a man slur directly above them. "Where the fuck is the toilet?"

"You aren't supposed to be in here," they heard someone say.

"Then where'm I supposed to be?" some gargantuan drunkard above them countered.

"The bathrooms are over there!" a female's voice hollered.

Liz squeezed Red's hand reassuringly in the dark. It was okay. She leaned forward until her forehead was pressed into the center of his back. Together they listened to the shuffle above. Eventually the drunkard was shown the proper location of the bathrooms, the door to the closet above was closed, and everything was quiet once again.

Only then did she realize how hard her heart was beating and how much adrenaline was in her system. She was shaking with it.

Red began to turn around, and she stepped back to accommodate his motion. Then she pressed her face into his chest as soon as he was facing her and wrapped her arms around him tightly, still holding her gun with one hand. Red reciprocated the embrace, wrapping his arms around her. It was then Liz noticed the reek of scotch. Red must have been pounding it down the second she went to sleep. He was leaning against her just a bit.

"That was scary," she breathed into the buttons on the front of his shirt.

"Yes," his nose and breath were in her hair, and he clutched her a little more tightly. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she moved her head into the crook of his neck and exhaled on the sensitive flesh purposefully, taking advantage of the opportunity afforded her.

"Lizzie," he growled warningly.

"No," she growled back.

Tucking her weapon into the waistband of her sweatpants and grabbing the collar of his shirt, she used all of her strength to turn them both and push Red up against the wall behind them, hard, keeping her hand behind his head to spare him any impact.

"Lizzie," he groaned, this time with a completely different inflection, and she silenced him with her lips against his, kissing him frantically, slanting her mouth over his again and again, knowing any minute he might push her away and come to his senses.

She ran her hands over his broad barrel chest and across his shoulders. He was solid and strong. She rubbed up against him instinctively and he moaned softly, grabbing her hips so hard she thought he might leave bruises. He pulled her pelvis against his roughly and she gasped against his mouth. He pressed his lips against hers briefly, then moved in to nuzzle her neck. She almost giggled, running her nails over his scalp and clutching at his shoulders, leaning her full weight against him to keep him pinned to the wall.

"You were crazy to think I wouldn't touch you until _after_ we'd taken down the Cabal," she whispered against his ear. Red sighed almost defeatedly against her neck. "I know you're worried," she whispered, reaching up to cup his face with both hands and bringing his eyes up to meet hers, "about what's going to happen once we get out there. I know you want to protect me, and you think you would be taking advantage of the situation, and of me…" he was still and quiet under her touch, taking her words seriously, his eyes focused on her closely. She looked up at him and smiled, running her thumbs affectionately over his jawline on either side. "Such a gentleman," she sighed adoringly, despite the frustration his gentlemanly behavior caused her.

Then, she got up on her tiptoes to place a kiss on his cheek and whisper into his ear, "But I'm so worried about what will happen if we don't take advantage of this time together."

She came down on her heels and looked up at him beseechingly. "One bullet, that's all it takes," she whispered to him in the semi-dark, and he clutched at her reflexively at the thought. "I'm already terrified of loosing you, Red…it's so much worse now to think it could happen on top of…everything else. I can't breathe when I think of it."

"I know," his voice was gruff. "I know."

He held her close for a moment, and she held him back purely for comfort, wishing he would say something more. After a minute, he pressed a quick kiss to her head and moved away from her. She sighed in disappointment.

"I'll be right back," he reassured her, then stepped into the bathroom and closed the door. He was still holding his gun.

She moved back to her bed and started to straighten the covers she'd flung off earlier at the sound of the door above. Tears sprang into her eyes. She had forgotten how much danger they were still in. She blinked and wiped her eyes futilely. So foolish…

Red emerged from the bathroom dressed in his sleeping clothes, clearly prepared for bed. Liz hid her face from him, re-holstering her weapon and finishing straightening her own bed. Of course he could sleep after that—Red was a pro, and she was a child crying at scary noises in the middle of the night.

She startled at the sudden touch of his hand on her shoulder. She hadn't heard him approach. She turned, conscious of her watery eyes and red nose.

He looked apprehensive. He appraised her critically and chewed on the inside of his cheek, working over something in his head.

"What is it?" she sighed, bracing herself.

"Would you…?" he grimaced and looked down at the floor. She took a small step closer and touched his arm tentatively. He reached up to clasp her hand, squeezing it as he met her gaze.

"Stay with me," he finished, almost a command instead of a request. She felt her eyebrows go up and her mouth pull into a small smile. "I need to…hold you," he ground out. "That's it," he added warningly, just to be clear.

"Okay," she nodded. Still holding his hand, she grabbed her pillow with her other one as he walked them to the other side of the room. Taking her pillow from her, he gave it a courteous fluff before placing it next to his. She smiled at his silliness as he made a grand gesture of pulling back the covers and motioning for her to get in. She slid herself across the mattress and tucked herself up against the wall.

"Hello, old friend," she whispered fondly, patting the bed beneath her and causing Red to snort indelicately with laugher as he crawled in next to her. He lay on his back and reached out for her. She curled up against his side and put her head on his chest, marveling once again at how nicely they fit together.

His arms were both around her at once, tight, clutching at her in something like relief. She shifted them both, truly understanding now what he'd meant when he said he needed to hold her. She moved upwards and cradled his head to her chest, both of her arms tight around him as well, one at his neck and one around his back. He sighed in both relief and contentment and relaxed against her. Eventually, once she was focused on the idea of comforting him and not on the thrill of his touch, she was able to relax as well.

"I let myself have too much to drink," he muttered to her collarbone. "I was desperate. You fell asleep and all I could think about was crawling in next to you. I couldn't get the thought out of my head."

Liz smirked against him. "That's awfully pervy of you, Mr. Reddington." She chuckled but he didn't. She stopped and tilted her head in the dark, trying to study his face.

"That door came open, and I couldn't react quickly enough," he shook his head against her.

"On a scale of one to ten, how drunk are you now?" she asked, surprised. "You were up and moving before I even sat up."

"Six," he sighed. "But earlier? Eight. I just completely forgot why we're here…"

"Me too," she whispered.

"I was so distracted…" he shuddered. "What if…"

"I know," she breathed and held him a little more tightly.

"We can't afford to be distracted right now, Lizzie," he rumbled, pulling away from her and sitting up a little bit so she could see that he was serious. "We have to be so careful."

Liz held back her response and took a moment to show him that she was considering his words, but then she shook her head and smiled in vain. "It's too late," she sighed ruefully. "I'm already distracted."

She leaned in and pressed a sweet, tender kiss to his cheek. He closed his eyes and savored it, and she remembered his story about another woman who had once kissed his cheek, "like a burst of sunlight on his face." She grinned to herself to think that she could have such an effect on him. She tucked herself in tightly against him, hugging him to her and likewise savored the rare moment of contact and the simple pleasure of showing him affection.

"Tell me about Dubai," she whispered against his shirt when they'd been silent together for a few moments.

"What would you like to know?" he whispered back, looking down at her, bemused.

"Everything. I've never been there," she sighed. "Will it be safe to go sight-seeing? I'd like to see the Burj Khalifa."

Red looked awestruck.

"Yes…Of course!" he practically crowed. "Oh, we could have so much fun!" then he sobered. "It will be safer there too, for us," he added somewhat ironically. Liz was once again reminded of their precarious status as fugitives and sighed, feeling guilty for trying to enjoy anything when the reality was so serious.

After a minute of somber silence, however, Red spoke again as though he just had to say something or burst. "You know I've arranged for new identities and papers for us to travel under, Lizzie, but you'll also have your own accounts too…sweetheart, wait until you see the _stores_!"

She laughed at his eager tone. "You know where all the good ones are, of course," she chuckled.

"Of course," came the haughty response beneath her cheek. She grinned and slid her hand over his t-shirt to squeeze his shoulder on the other side.

"And you'll show me where they are?" she teased. "So I can spend all your money in them?"

"Of course," he replied nonchalantly, but he was smiling, she could tell. "I'll even hold your bags and fetch you sizes…"

"You're ridiculous," she chuckled, embarrassed by how temptingly good the prospect sounded. "You make this sound like vacation. Aren't we supposed to be avoiding distractions, Red?" she chided him gently and pressed a small kiss to his chest. "Besides, you'll spoil me and I'll become insufferable, and then we'll have to get divorced."

Red laughed, then groaned at the idea and shook his head above her.

"No, that would never happen. You've suffered too much to become insufferable, Elizabeth." He was serious for a moment. "It would please me to no end if I could make this experience even the slightest bit less unpleasant for you…I'm delighted to think for even a minute that you would take advantage of the opportunity," he paused for a minute, then leaned in and whispered impishly in her ear, "Let's go see the Burj Khalifa, Lizzie! You and me, let's do it!"

"Okay!" she whispered back fiercely, tears springing into her eyes. "Okay."

"Okay," he repeated and settled in as she blinked and sniffed discreetly. "Good night," he squeezed her to him and kissed the top of her head. She reciprocated the affection, but frowned at the platonic, fatherly delivery. Pulling away from him and nimbly moving upward, she held his chin lightly and pressed her mouth against his for the briefest, sweetest moment, then pulled away before he could protest or respond—she wasn't sure which.

"Thank you," she murmured into his ear, settling against him once more.

"For what?"

"For fixing everything, and making it all seem like one big adventure," she reached across his chest and squeezed him gratefully. "This shouldn't be fun, but it is because I'm with you."

He didn't say anything for the longest time, and she wondered if she had said something wrong, but she could hear his heart _pounding_ beneath her ear. "Thank you, Elizabeth," he whispered eventually, and Liz could feel his gratitude for her words. "Let's get some sleep."

They lay together silently for a little while, each lost in thought and comforted by the presence of the other. Eventually Liz could tell by his breathing that Red had dozed off. She shifted slightly in his unconscious embrace, and he responded by grasping her more tightly. Liz laughed to herself, got comfortable, and for the second time in her life, fell asleep in his arms.


	8. Chapter Eight - Day Four, Part One

Liz opened her eyes and was immediately confronted by the bizarre and contorted sleeping positions they had both managed to attain in the night. She was facing the wall on her side, and her legs were in some strange scissor-kicking position down at the bottom of the bed. Red was on his side as well, facing outward, his legs tucked up almost to his chest to accommodate her legs at the end—or maybe it was the other way around, and she was scrunched down there because his ass was firmly pressed into the small of her back, slowly squishing her down there in a blatant attempt to manifest destiny over the rest of the twin mattress.

Either way, Liz had to stifle her chuckles as they were aggravating her newly acquired aches and pains. She managed to crawl up the length of the bed until her head was back on her pillow. She turned on her side, facing Red's back, and settled in, pulling her blanket back up over her. If she'd been worried about a repeat performance of the prior morning, all fears were now assuaged. She laughed a little again at the irony of it.

Red stirred, half-awake, straightened his legs and stretched a bit. He looked over his shoulder as though to be certain she was still there. She slid her arm around his waist in reassurance. Red caught her hand in his own and held it against his chest. He shifted until his back was against her even as she was pulling herself closer to him. She held him tightly, spooning him fiercely, as though she wouldn't get the chance to do it ever again. He ran his thumb over her hand intermittently, still clasping it against his chest.

They lay like that for awhile, neither bothering to get up and turn on the light. Liz imagined them staying like this down here for the next three days straight…just holding one another and telling each other stories. What was it Red had said about that fourth day he spent hiding underground? About feeling peace? Well, here it was. The world could tear itself to pieces outside, and they wouldn't even notice. Or care.

She buried her face between his shoulder blades and inhaled. Deeply.

Red sighed a deep contented sigh.

"Good morning," he rumbled.

"Good morning," she whispered back. She leaned in and kissed the back of his shoulder. She saw Red's cheekbones flare from behind and knew he was smiling. She squeezed him again affectionately, and he accepted the embrace, squeezing her hand in return against his chest tightly.

He stretched in her arms a few moments later, really starting to awaken, and Liz heard him wince.

"This bed is too small," he grumbled.

"Yeah, no kidding," she sighed, then smirked. "Do you think Eli would be scandalized if we pushed the beds together?"

"No, he wouldn't…" Red sounded optimistic about the suggestion. "..But I might be," he intoned with a chuckle.

"Well," Liz sighed, "You'll have to get over it, or sleep alone, because my whole body hurts from sleeping with you, and we didn't even do anything _fun_ ," she teased. Red groaned into his pillow.

She let her hand trail idly over his pectoral muscles, down the front of his chest, and back up again. She could feel the strength he had beneath his skin, sense the solid weight of his muscles under his soft cotton t-shirt. Red hummed his approval of her lazy exploration. Emboldened, she pressed a brief kiss to the side of his neck. He groaned, and it was music to her ears. She wished he would roll over so she could kiss him properly, but he seemed content to lay where he was while she ran her hands over him…at least he wasn't trying to stop her.

She trailed her hand down over his soft stomach and felt him reflexively attempt to suck it in. She squeezed him hard then, right around his middle. He wasn't obese, and he had twenty years on her…what did a little softness matter? It was Red…that was all that mattered to her.

Besides, Tom had been in great shape, and he was never half as exciting or arousing to her as Red was right now.

Liz leaned in and placed a tender kiss at the base of his neck. He savored it with a soft moan. She rubbed his stomach and nuzzled him.

"Are you always this… _affectionate_ in the morning?" Red murmured, his tone delighted. He looked back at her over his shoulder with a smirk on his face, "but you're so grumpy first thing at work," he teased. Liz pinched his side playfully hard enough to make him jump, and Red chuckled.

The hem of his t-shirt was bunched at his hip. Liz slid her hand beneath it stealthily, savoring the feel of his warm flesh, then moved it up the length of Red's back…

He flailed and nearly hit her in a frantic attempt to get away. He jumped out of the bed and whirled around to face her. Her hand was still outstretched in mid-air.

She stared at him, horrified, trying to make sense of what she'd just felt—skin that was puckered in some parts then alternately far too smooth, too warm in some places and cold and lifeless in others. What had happened to his back?

His eyes were bright on hers, watching. Eventually he looked down at the floor and simply stood there, waiting for her to speak, unable to speak himself.

Liz crawled to the edge of the bed and rose up on her knees. She was nearly eye-level with him. She reached out, took his hand, and pulled him to her. She encircled him in her arms and rested her chin on his shoulder. He leaned into her embrace, but did not reciprocate it.

"Will you show me?" she whispered, a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"Yes," Red muttered in response. "But know that I never intended for you to see this, Elizabeth…I'm sorry," he stepped back and eyed her sadly. He moved to the light switch and flicked it on. They both blinked, truly looking at one another for the first time that day. Liz gave him a small smile as he returned, and he simply gazed at her. Then he turned around with a sigh and presented his back to her, standing straight, stiff—an officer ready for inspection.

Wanting to make this as quick and painless as possible, feeling sick, Liz stood and unhesitatingly gripped the hem of his shirt, lifting it up to his shoulders. Her hiss of shock and horror was so loud in the tiny room, Red flinched.

Burns. God. Liz knew burns…and scars, she knew scars. She looked away from his back to look down at her own scar, and she knew, just deep down _knew,_ how Red had gotten his. Red was the man on the floor that night. Red was the man on the floor that night, on fire, in front of her.

She didn't realize she was sobbing until Red turned around and clutched her to him.

"Shhh," he soothed her. "Stop it, Lizzie. This isn't necessary." He lifted her wrist to his mouth and placed a sweet kiss to her own scar, and she cried harder. "No," he was almost exasperated. "Sweetheart…"

She wrapped her arms around him and put her face into his shoulder. She imagined the scar on her wrist spread across the expanse of her back and shuddered. It would be hideous. It would have to be explained every time she let a man touch her…and maybe some wouldn't want to after they saw it. She imagined shame and repulsion. It was no wonder he wore three piece suits to cover up such a damaged and ruined sight. How had she never seen him with his shirt off before? For all the times he'd been wounded, tortured, or something exploded next to him…all those times they had been inadvertently exposed to one another, and she had never seen this. It had to be one of his most preciously guarded secrets…a secret he hadn't wanted to share with her, a secret, like so many others, he wanted to protect her from.

He simply held her and let her cry herself out, let her hug him so hard she literally forced the air out of his lungs. Then she stepped away from him, grateful when he didn't attempt to follow her.

"Why didn't you ever tell me?" she hissed, and then cringed once again to think of all the times she had been cruel to him, or called him damaged. She cringed down deep, so hard she almost couldn't breathe. "You just let me hate you, Red! You just let me hate you and be _so_ _mad_ at you, and the whole time, you have literally had that night—had ME—on your back like this?" She shook her head, not comprehending. "For years now, I've wondered _who am I to Raymond Reddington? Why does he insist we have this connection?"_ She sighed. _"_ But I guess you can't really ever _forget_ pulling me out of the fire that night, huh?" she intoned dryly, making Red smirk despite the seriousness of the moment. "All this time…" she sighed again and shook her head at him. "Didn't you _want_ to tell me?"

"Selfishly, at times, yes," he sighed. "I just didn't know how to do it. How could I tell you about this, show you this, and not have it seem like a manipulation? I knew it would hurt you, and I thought it also might drive you away," he groaned. "I thought maybe if I kept the past on my back, I could keep it off yours, sweetheart. I'm sorry," he muttered. He looked so defeated, it broke her heart. He shook his head bitterly, his mouth working furiously with unspoken thoughts. He looked over at her finally and sighed with deep regret. "That's everything Lizzie. You have everything now."

She was crying again, guilt-ridden and grief-stricken.

"I feel so stupid," she breathed. "All this time, and I had no idea…"

"I should have told you. Dembe told me to tell you. I should have listened, but I just…couldn't, Lizzie. I couldn't risk it."

"It shouldn't have felt like a risk," Liz ground out. "You should have been able to tell me, but I was so hard on you when I didn't need to be, and I kept things from you on purpose to hurt you" she paused and took a shuddery breath. "I can see why you didn't tell me at first…but Red! Oh, if you'd told me this from the beginning, I would have believed you, I swear!"

It made her sick to imagine, to imagine how it might all have been so different. What would have happened if he had just told her the truth? All of it?

"We could have truly been in this together, Red! From the beginning! I could have trusted you from the start, but you didn't give me the chance," she growled at him in sudden frustration and anger. "We've wasted so much time, you idiot!"

She reached out suddenly and pushed him backwards. He sat down on the bed _hard._ She was in front of him immediately, forcing him to spread his knees and standing between them. She reached for his face, cupping his jaw with both hands, gentling herself purposefully and running her thumbs over his morning stubble. She tilted his head until his eyes met hers and smiled sweetly, tears blurring her vision until she blinked them free.

His hands went immediately to her hips. He gripped them hard until she leaned down and tenderly kissed the top of his head, still cradling his jaw. His grip slackened then, and he looked up at her in shocked pleasure. His expression shifted from surprised to pleased as she leaned down again and pulled his mouth to hers for the sweetest touch of her flesh to his…just a touch, just a tease, full of promise, renewal, and springtime. He groaned, tears suddenly in his own eyes for some unfathomable reason.

"Lizzie," he rumbled in a dark tone that made her suddenly _ache_ for him.

She didn't wait to hear the rest of what he was about to say, she couldn't help herself. She kissed him fully, deeply, reveling in the delightful friction of her lips against his. She captured his mouth again and again, and he pulled her into his lap, suddenly, predatorily, so that she was straddling him.

"God, yes," she moaned. "Red…"

He was rock hard and tucked right up against her in just the right spot between her legs. She ground herself against him experimentally, their respective sleepwear doing little to limit the sensation. He groaned hard and slid his hands into her hair at the base of her skull. He pulled her mouth to his and she squirmed against him again, delighting in the way he twitched and involuntarily grasped at her hips to still her.

"Lizzie," he practically giggled as he kissed her collarbone, then slipped his tongue in and out of the small hollow he found there. She gasped and deliberately ground herself along his length in retaliation. "Oh, please," he groaned into her neck. "Please _don't_ do that again, sweetheart…I feel like I'm thirteen years old. I've been hard since I woke up next to you."

"Really?" She stopped moving but kept herself firmly pressed against him, making sure he stayed aroused. She grinned down at him wickedly, and he smirked right back, ever present and waiting for her next move. He watched her raptly as she leaned back slowly, deliberately, keeping her hands on his shoulders, making certain that entirety of her clothed sex was pressed up against his. Red realized what she was doing, his eyes widening. She moved against him at the new angle again, and then again, brazenly, wantonly, while he clutched at her and desperately tried to get her to stop.

"Elizabeth!" he hissed, trying to convey his serious displeasure over being forced to cum in his pants like an adolescent while trying to simultaneously hold back his encouraging groans and pants of lust as she moved over him.

She chuckled, clearly enjoying his distress. She felt a surge of power and astonishment to think she could elicit such a response from him. His eyes narrowed. He gripped her waist and pulled her upwards so that she no longer able to grind up against him. He quivered beneath her, hovering on the edge

"You're so hard for me," she muttered wickedly into the shell of his ear. "It's so hot," she breathed before suckling his earlobe, earning a desperate moan from the poor, tortured man beneath her. She slid her right hand up beneath his shirt and pressed her scar against his back, let her own burned flesh mingle with its mate. Red moaned again at the touch. Then, she slid back downward and ground her hips against him in a long, sensuous swivel that made him grunt and thrust up against her.

"Goddamn it, Lizzie!" he groaned. He shuddered and came, pressed against the juncture of her hip and thigh, his faced buried in her neck. She could feel him pulsing against her and groaned at the sudden rush of heat and liquid to her own core in response. Nothing had ever turned her on as much as feeling and seeing this man come apart against her. She kissed the top of his head. Red might be annoyed at her for doing this, but at least he got off on it. She, on the other hand, was going to have to play it cool under some very slippery circumstances.

His forehead was pressed to her chest and his hands were hard on her hips, holding her against him. She wrapped her arms around his torso and nuzzled the top of his head, feeling just the slightest bit smug.

"That was a dirty trick you just pulled," Red grumbled breathlessly into her collarbone.

"Yeah, it was," She grinned at the ceiling in triumph. He learned back and studied her face in irritation.

"You seem pretty pleased with yourself," he growled.

"Mmmhmm, I enjoyed that _almost_ as much as you did," she smiled beatifically down at him.

"This isn't a game, Elizabeth," he sighed, motioning her off him and standing up. "I'm not playing with you now!"

"Oh…did you want to do that later?" she quipped, knowing that it was maybe one too far, but still trying maintain a lighthearted tone. He shot her a furious, withering look over his shoulder. She sighed and tried not to roll her eyes. "Come on, Red. We were having fun! What's wrong?."

"That was not how I wanted our first…encounter…to be," he bit out, his mouth working furiously once more. He looked so…disappointed.

"Red…" Liz rubbed her scar and looked away from him, trying to understand where he was coming from. "I'm sorry. Please…don't be mad. I got a little carried away."

"I asked you to stop," he said simply and she winced. He grabbed a clean towel from the shelf. With his back still to her, he wrapped the towel around his waist and tucked it in over his pajama bottoms and t-shirt. Then, he turned and came back to the bed, and Liz realized he was trying to cover up any tell-tale evidence of his orgasm. It was so…prudish—something she never would have expected from someone like Raymond Reddington. She tried to stop smiling at the ridiculous sight as he leaned down and pulled his bag from beneath the bed, but she couldn't help herself.

"Red…" she tried again, but he didn't look at her, just gathered his things for the shower.

"Lizzie I've dreamed of waking up next to you since we first met," Red suddenly sighed, and Liz felt her breath catch in her throat. "And this morning it happened…and it was _so_ …" he paused as though savoring the memory, and the expression on his face nearly broke her heart. Suddenly, Liz understood. That morning had been so sweetly sincere, affectionate and intimate—it made her grinding on his lap and taking advantage of his excitement for her seem so foolish and spiteful in comparison.

"Oh god," she groaned in sudden embarrassment. "I swear, I didn't mean to do that to you…embarrass you like that…"

He stood, holding his things for the shower. She jumped up and put her hands on his shoulders so that he faced her. She studied his expression, not sure what to say next.

"You've really dreamed of waking up next to me?" she finally smirked. "You might have known better…Clearly I'm unstable first thing in the morning…"

She moved up on tiptoes and placed a brief kiss to the underside of his jawline. He scoffed a little and relaxed even less. "I also don't think too hard about the consequences of my actions, sometimes," she sighed looking at him seriously. "You know this about me, Red."

He sighed and nodded slightly, a grim smile beginning to work it's way about his mouth.

"I'm also selfish," she added. "Sometimes I only think about myself, about what I want…"

She stepped in a little closer and put her mouth up next to his ear. "I wanted to _make_ you cum for me…and you were so _good_ ,"she darted in and pressed her mouth to his neck quickly. "You were so _good_ for me," she purred.

Red growled and stepped away from her quickly, clutching his clothing and shower kit to his chest as though to ward her off. She gasped and laughed lightly.

"What has gotten into you?" he chuffed, awed and pleased, and then concerned. "Lizzie…"

"Shhh…she shook her head at him. "It's okay. Go take your shower. I'll make us some coffee."

He studied her for a moment, tilted his head to the side and observed her keenly. She smiled at him warmly, happily. He took a deep breath and closed the gap between them to press a chaste kiss to her lips. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned up to whisper in his ear once more.

"I really am sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel degraded. You mean so much to me…I was so excited to see you finally enjoy yourself."

"I may have…overreacted," he muttered, bending down to put his mouth to the juncture of her neck and shoulders. "I never anticipated that happening," he added ruefully.

She chuckled richly into ear and ran her hands over the length of his torso. "It was so fucking hot, Red, I swear. You can't possibly know what it did to me…to know I could do that to _you_."

She was rubbing up against him again, like a cat in heat. Even though he had just cum, Red felt his cock twitch hopefully. He had to get away from her. He needed a moment to think and it simply wasn't _possible_ next to her, looking at her, smelling her hair, her skin, _kissing_ her mouth…

"Shower," he blurted suddenly. Liz stepped back from him, startled.

"Okay," she responded uncertainly. "Coffee."

"Okay," he nodded. "Good plan."

He turned on his heel and made his escape to the bathroom while Liz looked on in amusement.

* * *

The next chapter and the rest of this story will be mostly "M" henceforward. Then a small break for fluff. Then "M" again.


	9. Chapter Nine - Day Four, Part Two

_Seriously_ , Blacklist? Liz _pregnant_ with Tom's baby? Liz and Tom _back_ _together_?!

That's enough of your shit, Blacklist. _Enough_ already.

This is an extra-long chapter because I am so goddamn pissed the fuck off at how little sense this season is making, and I just had to write ALL THE THINGS before I felt like I had a good stopping point. It's also DIRTY at the end (hence the increase in rating) because it should have been Lizzington.

Also, I have never had people send me so many desperate pleas for more story. So, yay, more story.

* * *

Red had never been more grateful to flee. The bathroom wasn't much bigger than a port-a-potty, but it had a door that closed and it held the promise of at least a few moments of privacy.

Oh god, what had gotten into Lizzie? She was _relentless!_

He turned on the shower and methodically began to undress. He unwrapped the towel from around his waist and confirmed to his chagrin that his pajama bottoms were indeed stained with the copious results of his orgasm. He pulled them down and stepped out of them. His boxer-briefs were in an even worse state. He painstakingly separated certain tender parts of his anatomy away from the fabric to which they were glued and deftly removed the underwear itself.

He paused in removing his shirt, cringing at the memory of the way Lizzie had cried over his scars. He had foolishly never anticipated her reaching under his shirt. He'd forgotten in the moment that he even _had_ these scars; he was so caught up in her gentle exploration and sweet morning affections…he hadn't been thinking about anything except touching her…

 _Idiot!_ he cursed under his breath and removed his shirt. Parts of the skin on his back tightened unpleasantly as he lifted the garment over his head. He ignored the twinges of pain and immediately stepped under the heated spray, groaning at how good the hot water felt against his skin.

He scrubbed himself thoroughly, trying to suppress the memory of Lizzie's touch on his flesh and feel of her mouth against his. He thought of her dirty words in his ear and the sounds she made while pressed up against him…he was suddenly hard again. He sighed in frustration.

He couldn't do this. _He couldn't do this!_

He took himself in hand to relieve his burdensome erection, knowing it was just one of many likely to occur in the near future if Lizzie kept trying to have her way with him. Red had been completely unprepared for her sudden change of heart, and he was weak and practically powerless to resist her. He was constantly under siege, having to fight his own surging desire. She would eventually break him, he knew. She would sweetly and persistently torture him, grinding on him, curling herself around him while he slept, kissing him and teasing him mercilessly until he finally snapped, ripped her clothes off, and devoured her.

He came quickly at the thought of it—a thought that was lightly sugared with the knowledge that Lizzie was actually out there, right now, waiting for him, _wanting_ him. If he were so inclined, his fantasy could become reality in just a split second and a few paces.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and turned off the shower. He sighed, stepped out, and proceeded to dry himself with a towel. Then came the somewhat tedious process of moisturizing the skin on his back, shaving while the steam of the shower was still thick in the air, and other self-maintenance. He brushed and flossed, trimmed his nails, used Q-tips in his ears, and otherwise attempted to stall for as long as possible in a vain attempt to get himself together and remember why he was trying to resist Lizzie in the first place.

He forced himself to imagine life once they were out of this cozy little shelter and stuck in the thick of it. She had never seen him fully immersed in his criminal element. She had no idea how dangerous and frightening the tasks ahead of them would be. She would _see_ things, do things, _endure_ things that would alter her permanently. She would see _him_ in his worst (and ironically his best) incarnation—cold-blooded and ruthless—the real Concierge of Crime. He would disgust and appall her at some point, he knew, and she would blow up at him at the worst moment, he knew, but he had no choice—he would stop at nothing to keep her safe.

And yet, he had already failed at that. She was never supposed to be here. She was never supposed to be on the run like this, to be a criminal, _murderer_ like this. He smothered the urge to punch something in frustration. He had failed her so _thoroughly_. He had set this entire train in motion the second he'd surrendered himself to the FBI, and now it was completely off the rails, and completely his fault. She was meant to be his salvation, the one pure, sweet thing he could cultivate in his squalid garden of death and decay. It was all over now.

He gritted his teeth and took a few deep breaths. As frustrated as Elizabeth was sitting still down here, his levels were ten times that. He needed to move, he needed to breathe and clear his head. He needed to get away from her before she drove him _insane…_

 _But, she wanted to see the Burj Khalifa._

His breath caught at that memory—her small voice in the dark, asking for an experience with him—not just for the help she needed to clear her name, but an honest-to-goodness request to spend time with _him_. Something had shifted. It wasn't about protecting her anymore. It wasn't about her job and taking out Black-listers…somehow, it was now about the two of them. It was about the two of them being _together_.

God, it was too much. How on Earth was he going to get them both out of this? She would be the death of him. All she had to do was look at him sideways and he no longer had enough blood supply to make his mind function. _Damn_ _her_ for choosing exactly the wrong moment to decide she wanted to get into his pants.

He had to hold on just a little bit longer, he told himself. His associate was almost ready, and early too. Eli would let him know any moment now that it was time for them to be on the move.

Red sighed. The second they left this shelter and Lizzie rejoined the world outside, she would be reminded of all the things that really kept them apart. She would undoubtedly regret anything that occurred between them while they were down here together. He would have to pull back. He _could_ _not_ give her yet another reason to resent him.

So what would be his course of action?

Red took a deep breath, dressed and in control of himself once more. He had to be sure of her. He had to be sure it wasn't all circumstantial. If she still felt like this once they were together in Dubai, once they each had their own rooms and some space between them—some perspective outside of this root cellar—then, and only then, would he allow himself hope. In the meantime, he would be tentatively optimistic. If she was going to vie for his attention, he would engage her with whatever it took, distract her by any means necessary, hold her off as best he could. He could do this! He was Raymond Reddington, goddamnit.

Having made the decision and praying to whatever gods might be listening that he had the resolve to uphold it, Red tidied up and exited the bathroom.

* * *

Liz was sitting at the table, nursing a coffee. The old TV was on quietly in the background. She'd been monitoring the morning headlines. She looked up at him and smiled warmly. Red felt his heart jump in his chest, and groaned internally—He was doomed.

"Coffee," she pointed to a mug set at his place at the table.

"Thank you," he nodded, putting his dirty laundry into the laundry bag and closing it. He would take the stained clothing out and throw it away once she was in the shower.

He took his seat at the table and smiled down into his mug. He lifted it to his mouth, took an appreciative sip and sighed. His eye fell on the cereal and evaporated milk on the table. Lizzie had taken them off the shelf in a half-hearted effort to make breakfast, but it was clear from her untouched bowl and spoon that she was as sick of cereal as he was.

"As soon as we get the chance out there, let's get breakfast together, Lizzie. A _real_ breakfast," he smiled.

"Oh, yes please," Liz sighed. "Eggs, Red!"

"And bacon," he groaned. "Home fries?" he added hopefully after a beat.

"Definitely," she concurred, grinning.

"Alright then," Red raised his cup in her direction. "We're agreed." He sighed deeply and resignedly poured some cereal into his bowl. "Anything new?" he queried, nodding towards the television.

"Our story is tasting a little stale to the media these days. We're mostly down to the scrolling headlines and the occasional update that isn't really an update," Liz grinned.

"Excellent," Red smiled back at her. "They'll be desperate to broadcast anything about us by the time the Troll Farmer is ready."

Liz nodded in acknowledgement, unsure of what else to add to the conversation. The morning's events and revelations were heavy on her mind. Red nodded back at her politely and an awkward silence fell between them.

Liz took a moment to think. The last half hour alone had been a tangled mess of too many thoughts and feelings. Sitting across from him, knowing about the scars on his back, knowing he was the one who had pulled her out of the fire that night…what could she possibly say to him now? Then, of course, there was that other whole thing this morning where she'd then jumped on him like a child and dry-humped his leg like a dog…Liz winced and grimaced, trying to shut down her own mortifying internal monologue before she could finish those thoughts. _Why had she done that?_ The look on his face after—that look of disappointment—yes, that was going to haunt her in a cringeworthy way _forever_.

She could feel Red watching her intently from the other side of the table. What did he even see in her now, anyway? Wasn't she a complete joke to him at this point? With all he'd done for her…what even made her worth all this trouble?

She raised her eyes to meet his gaze, almost ready to ask him that question point blank.

"What is it, Lizzie?" he asked, setting down his mug instantly. His expression was so eager that Liz quailed, realizing that this could not possibly be the right time to have a serious conversation about what they meant to one another—especially not when he was sitting before her freshly bathed and dressed as he was, and she being still clad in her pajamas, actively combining her morning breath with her coffee breath.

"I was hoping you saved me some hot water," she subbed with a small smile. "Not that I have to ask, of course…you're such a _gentleman,_ " she teased. He accepted the compliment with a regal gesture. "Seriously though," she frowned. "I can't think of how this all would have worked with anyone else."

"I'm good in tight spaces," Red intoned.

"I believe you," Liz chuckled at the innuendo. She looked over at him fondly, and he smiled back at her. For a moment, time stood still as she committed the sweet expression on his face to memory.

"Okay," she sighed, suddenly self-conscious. "I'll be back in a minute." She stood and made her way around him, pausing briefly to press a quick kiss to the top of his head as she passed. His arm shot out and he caught her hand as she moved away. He tugged her back until she was in his line of sight once more and looked up at her peevishly.

"What was that?" he brushed his free hand over the top of head.

"A kiss?" she replied, perplexed.

"For your darling grandpa?" he drawled, raising an eyebrow, his eyes leaving hers and traveling down to her lips.

"I have coffee breath," she frowned.

"I've survived worse," he stated dryly and pulled her willingly down to him. He touched his mouth sweetly, chastely, against hers, then released her.

"Better?" she straightened and cupped the side of his face affectionately. He reached up and held her hand there for a moment, pressed against his cheek, eyes closed.

"Much," he sighed. Then pulled her hand to his mouth to press a kiss to her palm and let her go. "Enjoy your shower, sweetheart."

Liz took her time in the bathroom for the same reasons Red had earlier—perfunctory masturbation, shaving and scouring of all offensive body parts, anxious avoidance of a significant other, and a deep need to speculate on the uncertainty of the future—Liz managed to work through all of these phases in a half hour. She arrived at the conclusion that there was no way to anticipate the actions of one, Raymond Reddington…she was simply better off letting him take the lead in this. If he wanted her to back off, if he didn't want to start anything with her now, here, then perhaps she should just…let it marinate. He would let her know when the time was right—Red did have impeccable timing, after all. She needed to savor these last days…they had nothing else to do now except spend time together. It would not be so easy in the future.

She emerged clean, clothed, and renewed in spirit. She threw her dirty clothes in with the laundry—not caring about the state of her underwear this time, but making sure it was covered up—and sat back down at the table with Red.

"Were you serious this morning when you asked if we could push the beds together?" Red inquired, immediately catching her off guard.

"What?" she choked.

"I mean it…if we push the headboards up against the wall where your bed is now, we could have all sorts of lovely space," he chuckled. "Not to mention we could watch the TV in bed together," he added.

"Oh, well then it's just practical," she commented dryly. "Let's do it."

The prospect of a project rendered them both alight with good humor. Instantly, Red was up and flipping his chair over so that the seat rested on the edge of the table. Liz stood and put her chair up as well. In unison they lifted the table and moved it out of the way. The metal bed frames were much heavier than anticipated, but they were both motivated and desperate for a mission. Liz pulled all the bedding off each bed and set it all on the table, then she pushed the table as far out of the way as possible, as quietly as possible.

"Let's bring your bed out first," Red suggested. Liz and Red each took one end of her bed frame, lifted it away from the wall, then swung it around so the headboard was against the wall instead of the side of the bed. "Good start," he grunted.

"Be careful," she wheezed. "You took a bullet to the chest just a few weeks ago."

"Oh, I'm aware," Red huffed sarcastically.

They went more slowly with Red's frame, carefully maneuvering it into position in their tiny cellar. Sliding it into place next to Liz's, headboard to the wall, they suddenly had their own king-sized bed. There was barely enough space to move around the foot of it, but it was there.

"Oh," Liz groaned, stretching, remembering her aches and pains from the night before. "This is going to be so much better."

"Agreed," Red winced and flexed in memory as well.

"I guess it also means we're sharing a bed from now on," she looked to him hesitantly for confirmation.

"I suppose it does," Red was nonchalant. He had thought on this at length while she was in the bathroom. He would not, could not, give up the feeling of having her next to him while he slept—not now that he knew what it was like. "How do you think we should make it up?" he pointed to the pile of bedding on the table, effectively cutting her off before she could inevitably question him about what it _meant_ that they were sharing a bed.

Since they didn't have fitted sheet for a king mattress, Liz improvised and tucked one of their twin top-sheets in width-wise over the two mattresses. She then laid the other top-sheet and their two blankets width-wise over the mattresses again. The bedding was just long enough to cover everything, but too small to tuck in at the foot of the bed.

"That's alright," Red reasoned. "I don't like to be too tucked-in…makes me feel like I'm sleeping in a straightjacket."

"Have you ever actually slept in a straightjacket?" she laughed.

Red thought critically for a moment. "Not in an actual straightjacket, no. Restrained, yes. Straightjacket, no…" he paused and looked over at her. "Would you like to hear a story?"

"Yes!" she grinned. Red chuckled, then cast a slight glance around the room in distaste.

"Maybe we should tidy up first?"

They moved the table and chairs into the space where Red's bed had been. Liz grabbed a small broom with fraying bristles that was propped up against one of the shelves. She swept around the cellar, pushing the small amount of dirt and debris into a pile at the center of the room. Lacking a dustpan, Red ingeniously procured a manilla file folder from the Cabal files in his bag and held it to the floor while Liz carefully brushed the dirt onto it. Once it was thrown away, they were both very pleased with themselves. Liz took an extra moment to rearrange their supplies on the shelves and Red took the opportunity to make another French press of coffee.

Eventually they sat down at the table together, Red pulling out a chair for Liz, Liz smiling up at him in thanks. She had pulled two fresh mugs from the shelf for each of them and now handed them to him one at a time to fill. They had their routine down to a science at this point. Liz mused with a rueful grin on how their desperate hideout situation had become so homey. Her smirk drew Red's gaze, and noticing his interest, she explained, "This feels like home somehow, right now…isn't that bizarre? It's like…we're just doing a little redecorating and hanging out in our weird basement apartment on a Saturday morning."

"Yes!" he laughed in acknowledgement of the truth of it. "But you always feel like home to me, Lizzie," Red smiled adoringly at her from across the table. "So…no, I don't think it's bizarre at all."

"I feel like home to you?" she looked up at him seriously, knowing what the concept of "home" meant to a man like him—Red, who never slept in the same place for more than two nights in a row. He was instantly chastened under her gaze, as if regretting such an admission, but she ignored his implied retraction. She would file that piece of information away for now and muse on it later.

"It's because it's the fourth day," she informed him smoothly. "You've experienced this before, you said."

"Ah, yes," he brightened. "Peaceful, not a care in the world down here underground…Nice of you to listen."

"Nice of you to share."

"Yes, well…" somehow Red was at a loss for words.

"You said you were going to tell me a story?" Liz prompted, smiling into her third cup of coffee for the day. "Something about sleeping restrained?" she added, then frowned. "Wait…this isn't going to be like the dirty story I caught the tail end of in Uzbekistan, is it? You covered in vaseline and no sheets? If so, I'll pass," she muttered.

"No, no," Red piped up cheerfully. "It's a delightful story about torture."

"Oh, goody," Liz groaned.

"Yes, I was in Burkina Faso…" Red proceeded to tell Liz a grisly, complicated story of how he and Dembe had been in the process of negotiating a weapons deal with a fierce local tribe caught up in a turf war, or some such nonsense, when the opposing parties had taken it upon themselves to disrupt negotiations by kidnapping Red and Dembe and holding them for days. "Wrists shackled over our heads. No food and just barely a swallow of water between _sessions_ with their leader. The man had a bear taser that made me piss myself twice, but somehow it barely tickled Dembe," Red chuckled. "The man is sweating, _screaming_ in poor Dembe's face, giving him the juice again and again, and Dembe barely even blinks," Red chuckled darkly at the memory. "Smiles, infuriatingly, right at him."

Liz shuddered and shook her head. "How did you escape?"

"One day, the leader brings in a rusty wire mattress frame and a car battery. Dembe's lack of response to his favorite torture method has him pissed, and he's not thinking straight. The second they unshackled Dembe to lash him to that frame, he broke two guard's necks and had the leader in a choke hold, like lightening," Red snapped his fingers in emphasis and closed his eyes almost blissfully as he reminisced. "There Dembe was, just zapping him with that bear taser, over and over, almost _playfully_ , until the man finally passed out and we could both escape."

"And you were just tied up the whole time, watching?" Liz laughed.

"Well, it was only polite to wait…not that it took long," Red chuckled. "Besides, I was thoroughly entertained."

Liz smiled and shook her head at him. Then she sobered and frowned in thought.

"How do you do it?" she shivered, serious at once. "Go through an experience like that and then just …shake it off?" Red didn't answer right away. Liz went on, "When you've been through so much—at what point does it stop being _terrible_ and become a funny story you tell a girl on a lazy Saturday morning? A war story?"

"It takes time." Red stated. "Time, and distance created by all the wonderful memories and experiences I make in between then and now, Lizzie. I may have been tortured, repeatedly left for dead in some of the dankest, most foul places in the world, and I can't say I haven't done the same or worse to others, blackening my soul at both ends as it were," his mouth worked furiously for a moment and he looked away from her, then down at the floor. "However," he continued, looking up at her almost beseechingly. "I believe in redemption, Lizzie. I've put concerted effort into making up for when I couldn't be kind or conservative with my actions. I want to do as much good as I can, Lizzie. A monster like me needs to experience everything this beautiful, terrible world has to offer…it's the only way I can save myself, it's the only way I can _live_ with myself."

They were both silent for a moment.

"That's what the Blacklist is, then?" Liz murmured eventually, stunned and a little sad. "It's your redemption?"

"In a way," Red replied to the floor. "But to answer your original question, the only way to make that transition, the best way to lessen that trauma, is to live as well as you can for as long as you can, sweetheart. Don't deny yourself. Take every opportunity that comes your way to make your heart race for all the right reasons…and then remember that's what you're meant for when it's racing for all the wrong ones."

His voice was so gentle and his expression so bleak, it nearly broke her heart. Liz could only nod and blink back tears. After a minute, she bolstered her courage and attempted her own war story.

"Remember Luther Braxton?" she tried to adopt a hearty, macho tone, but she blubbered embarrassingly. Red smiled sadly but played along.

"Oh poor Luther…the poor man was in way over his head from the start!" he chuckled convincingly and motioned for her to continue. Liz took a breath.

"Before he decided to try hypnotherapy, he waterboarded me for hours, trying to get me to tell him where the Fulcrum was," Liz quavered, but she managed to tilt her head jauntily. "But at the time, I had no idea. Not a clue. And even if I had, it wouldn't have mattered, because all I could think about was the near-certainty that you were dead."

A muscle twitched in Red's cheek.

"He was in the room with me when you called. You had excellent timing, by the way…It was a nice break, you know, from all the torture," she managed to quip. Red smiled politely, but his hands on the table were fisted tightly, his knuckles white and practically. popping out from beneath the skin. Liz quietly reached over the table and put her hand over his, calming him. "I had a moment to catch my breath, get my bearings and listen in," she grinned up at him suddenly. "I _knew_ it was you. He didn't say your name—he didn't have to—I just _knew_ ," she laughed softly. "The _relief_ I felt, Red," she sighed. "The sheer, euphoric _relief_ …you were alive! Everything was going to be okay!" she laughed and fresh tears sprang into her eyes. He gripped her hand between his and squeezed. "And I knew you were mad as hell, and I knew you were coming for me," she smirked knowingly and Red chuckled in response. "I knew whatever he did to me next, you would repay him five times as hard. Whatever came next, I could endure it, because you were okay, and you were going to save me. It was such a pure, sharp moment…" she trailed off and looked Red straight in the eye. "It was the moment I knew how much I cared about you, it was so much worse," she was crying again, goddamnit, "thinking you were dead—it was literally worse than being water-boarded," she exhaled shakily and pulled her hand away from Red's to wipe her face. He handed her a piece of paper towel and she used it as a tissue.

"Lizzie," he crooned. "Is that true?"

"Yeah, well," Liz frowned at him and shook her head. "It's why I was so devastated later to learn that you were there the night of the fire…that you were maybe only in my life because of the Fulcrum—that I couldn't trust you the way I wanted to…that it was too risky to care about you." she paused. "And you never exactly reassured me that wasn't the case at the time…in fact, you have obnoxiously, actively discouraged me from caring about you on more than one occasion…"

"I truly regret how those events transpired, but I can't change the past, Lizzie," Red muttered, frustrated at the unpleasant shift in the conversation. "I never wanted you to bear the burden of knowing about that night, much less the role I played in it…Why are you telling me this now?"

"I just realized, Red," she sighed. "Out of that whole wretched experience, of all the horrible moments I can remember from that time, that good moment is the one I think about the most. That one blissful moment outshines all of the dark ones," she smiled over at him warmly. "So…you're right about the power of good experiences. For once, I know exactly what you mean."

Neither of them spoke for a moment, both processing her words.

"You know," she added after a beat, squeezing his hand to get his attention and not letting go. " _This_ is going to make a great story once we get out of here…We'll be having a drink with our friends or something someday, and I'll say, 'Hey, remember that time we went on the run together and spent that whole week hiding out in that root cellar under the bar?'"

"And played cards for hours, then drank each other under the table for days?" Red crowed and threw his head back as he laughed, corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth.

"And you found those Belgian chocolates and read me Huckleberry Finn?" she smiled softly. "How you held me when I had those nightmares…" she shuddered, remembering, then grinned at him cheekily. "…And how we couldn't keep our hands off each other?"

"Come here, Lizzie," Red suddenly held out his hand to her.

She stood and moved around the table. His expression focused at once. He rose to pull her unceremoniously into his arms and held her fiercely.

"Waking up from being bombed unconscious in that wretched prison and finding out that he'd taken you? That was my worst nightmare come to life," he muttered gruffly into her ear. "I was a wreck until I found you," his arms wrapped tightly around her whole body. "And when I found you…oh, Lizzie," he whispered, "The _relief_ I felt—the sheer, euphoric _relief_ …" he was repeating her words from earlier, infusing them with new life and feeling. She clutched at him in response. "You were alive, everything was going to be okay!"

She sniffed, blinked away a fresh set of tears, and laid her head on his shoulder. He held her closer, if that was possible. She leaned into the embrace and relaxed against him.

"Whatever happened to Mr. Braxton?" she sighed.

"I strung him up by his neck and left him in The Director's living room," Red chuckled, still holding her close, almost swaying with her against him. Liz shuddered but admired the symmetry of it—Braxton had taken her breath and Red had taken his. "It was a desperate play at the time…I didn't have the Fulcrum, but I needed him to believe I did. I had to threaten him, then beg him to call my bluff."

"And there I was holding onto it the whole time, no idea you were trying to stop the Cabal from coming down on all of us, not knowing the danger, watching you get shot in the street…" she choked back a sob and suddenly pushed him away from her angrily. "You really need to communicate better," she snapped. "That's exactly the kind of thing that's going to fuck us up out there…I need to know the whole story from now on. I can't trust you like I want to when you withhold information and manipulate me."

"Lizzie," he held his hands up and attempted to placate her.

"No!" she snarled. "Maybe you were trying to protect me before, and maybe before all of this, I still had some innocence left to protect, but it's different now. It has to be different now, Red," she started pacing the length of the bed behind her and shaking her head as she ranted.

Red put his hands into his pockets and sighed in frustration. Of course she would come to this conclusion, of course she would want to do it the hard way—she couldn't just let him handle the unpleasant things! She had to _insist_ on getting her hands dirty too, goddamnit.

"You have to let me in," Liz continued insistently, her blue eyes boring into his green ones. "You have to teach me, Red! You have to train me! If you really care about me, you won't let me go into this blind."

"That's enough," he suddenly hissed, ripping his hands from his pockets and taking a step towards her. "We are past the point where you accuse me of not caring about you, Elizabeth. I am sick to _death_ of hearing you hurl that particular disparagement in my direction every time you're upset with me!"

It was the loudest he had ever raised his voice to her, and she shrank back instinctively from both the force of it and the sting of his truth, her expression stricken. Red immediately froze and then looked down at the floor in shame.

"I'm sorry ," he ground out between his teeth. "But…"

"No, you're right. Touché," she tried to joke, flooded with guilt. "I'm no saint either, I get it." She moved towards him quickly and put her arms around his torso, squeezing tight with her face pressed into his chest. "I know you care," she whispered fiercely. "I know you care, Red. I'm so glad you care, so grateful. You wanted to be my sin-eater, and you did everything you could to keep me on the straight and narrow path and give me a normal life."

He sighed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head.

"I tried," he replied gruffly.

"You did good," she admonished. "But things have changed," she pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "You can't be my protector anymore. We have to be partners, equals. We're both vulnerable here. We're both adults. I can handle it, if you teach me how."

"Teach you how?" Red sighed. "Lizzie…"

"No, no," she cut him off. "I'm already learning from you. It's too late. You're always telling me I need to be more adaptable and loosen up. Now I know about the power of positive experiences and their role in overcoming trauma…see Red?" she smiled up at him teasingly. "I understand now why you're always up for a drink and a dance, even if we're in the middle of fighting for our lives!" she snorted and he smirked. "I promise, from now on, I'm not even going to _frown_ at you disapprovingly for that type of thing…I might even join you!" she gasped dramatically.

"Don't assume my glib behavior is all in the name of self-redemption and strategic coping mechanisms, Lizzie," he chuckled. "I'm also a callous bastard."

"Yeah, but you're my callous bastard," she sighed. "And I care about you, so I'm tasked with making things work out between us, and so are you…what do you say? Can we start fresh? Go forward as a dynamic duo? I need to know now."

"Lizzie, there are going to be times I can't tell you things for your own good, for your own peace of mind, sweetheart. That's just how it is," Red sighed, cringing internally at the idea of her knowing everything, of telling her _everything_. Surely she would run from him…it seemed inevitable.

"It's my welfare and my peace of mind. I choose what I get to know and what I don't," she snapped back defiantly. He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes.

"You don't know what you're asking for," he shook his head. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Hey, you're welcome to try and dissuade me, convince me that what I want to know is dangerous or will likely just devastate me—I'm not saying I won't listen, I'm saying from now on, I get to choose whether or not I want it. You can't keep things from me anymore. Please…" she was almost pleading and he was panicking. "I know it goes against all of your instincts, but I also know that "protecting me" is sometimes just a way for you to keep your distance from me, but no more, Red," she leaned in to make her point. "I care about you. I want to be close to you. I want to know everything. I want to know you. You can do this. _We can do this_!" she kissed his neck, his jawline, his cheek, but stopped once she got to his mouth. "Say that you'll try—It's new for both of us," she touched her lips to one corner of his mouth. "Just imagine—a future where we don't have to constantly be such antagonistic pains in the ass to one another!" she whispered gleefully against his skin, earning his rueful chuckle. "We can be pain in the ass criminals to everyone else!"

"Elizabeth," he sighed, trying to be serious. "I will _attempt_ to be more forthcoming…but you have to understand that this is my world, and out here you are nothing more than a delicate morsel in a pit of vipers—what reassurances do I have that _you_ won't stick to past precedent and just ignore me if I say something is too dangerous, then charge out there and do whatever the hell you want? Stubborn minx," he growled, staring her down and sliding his hands up, over her hips to grip either side of her waist, possessive and restraining. She had to breathe through the rush of blood and heat that washed over her in response. She could not be distracted now.

"I've learned my lesson there too, I think," she breathed. "I know I've been reckless, let my emotions get the better of me, thrown tantrums even…people are dead now because of my childish behavior," she cringed with shame and sighed. "Though to be fair," she added after a beat "I haven't always been working with _all_ the available information," she grumbled. "But if you tell me 'no,' in the future, I expect full explanation as to _why_."

Red's mouth worked for a moment as he considered her wishes.

"I will…try," he bit out.

"Me too," she nodded. "I'll try too."

"How reciprocal of you," he smirked. "Very quid pro quo."

"Mmm, yes" she agreed, focusing her attention on his mouth. "If someone does something to you, sometimes it's only fair that you do it back to them."

She pushed up on her toes and kissed him, and Red—never failing to give as good as he got—unhesitatingly returned the kiss. Liz savored his joyful compliance and the feel of him against her. His lips were firm but in no hurry, and he spent several minutes simply enjoying the feel of her mouth on his before deepening the kiss, pulling her against him and nimbly brushing the tip of his tongue against hers. Liz responded enthusiastically, but had no intention of pushing him for anything more than a kiss. She was pleasantly surprised when Red began to gently urge her to step backwards until her calves were pressed against the side of their new shared bed.

"It's funny you should say that," he murmured into her mouth, cupping her face with his hands.

"What?" she had forgotten words entirely.

" _If someone does something to you, sometimes it's only fair that you do it back to them._ " he mimicked her and she laughed. "The thing is, Lizzie, you did something to me this morning, and I think now it's only fair that I do it back to you."

"Red, wha…" she couldn't even finish her question before he pushed her playfully down onto the mattress. She sprawled ungracefully on the flat of her back, and looked up at him in surprise and pleasure. His expression was focused, acquisitive. Liz could feel the heated paths his eyes trailed across her body as he surveyed her, observed the way she was spread out before him. She shuddered and felt the space between her legs contract in anticipation.

He wasted no time, following her down, covering her body with his own, kissing her over and over again while she writhed beneath him with abandon, glorying in his touch, reveling, doing her best to pass as much of the pleasure he was giving her back to him. He groaned into her mouth as she moved against him in that naughty, provocative way she seemed to have a special knack for. Noting his response, she did it again. trying to wrap one of her legs around his hip for leverage, but this time he grabbed her hips and pressed them into the mattress, immobilizing her.

"No," he growled. "Not this time." He moved upwards and sucked her earlobe into his mouth, worrying the delicate, sensitive flesh with his teeth as she squirmed and cried out underneath him. "This is payback, Elizabeth,"

"Payback?" she giggled "For _what_?"

"For this morning…" he grunted, pinning both her hands over her head with one of his, effectively ceasing her efforts to touch him. "You, now…I'm going to _make_ you…" He was incoherent and didn't finish his sentence, choosing instead to bury his face in her hair and breathe deep, trying to regain a measure of control. He was half on top of her, pinning her beneath him and exploring what remained exposed with his other hand. He cupped her breast, squeezed, and then slid the palm of his hand over her ribs and across the smooth length of her stomach. She arched purposefully into his touch, moving against him despite his efforts to keep her still, to keep himself in check, and felt his breathing hitch above her. He removed his face from her hair and then buried it in her neck. "Lizzie," he hissed against sensitive skin. "I'm going to make you mine."

"I'm already yours," she whispered back teasingly, turning her head to press a kiss to his jawline.

"No," he shook his head against her neck. "You're in my head every minute…"

"You're in mine too," she interjected, but he pulled back to catch her gaze and shake his head again.

"No sweetheart…I'm _consumed—_ constantly wanting to be near you, hear your voice, smell your perfume…" he buried his face into her neck again to do just that and groaned. "You've ruined me," he chuckled ruefully, "but it's all right, because I plan to reciprocate."

"Ruin me, Red?" she laughed, encouragingly. "But can't we both…?" she started to ask, but his insistent hand was inside the elastic waistband of her pants, into her panties and stroking between her legs before she could finish whatever irrelevant thought she was about to vocalize.

"Oh _Lizzie_ ," he purred, and she could tell from the entire lack of friction and wealth of sensation elicited as he slid the pads of his middle fingers over her clit, that she was embarrassingly wet—practically dripping. "Is this really for me?" he stilled his hand and raised his head to meet her gaze, grinning foolishly in disbelief and amazement. She laughed and freed one of her hands to pull him in by the collar for a kiss. "I'm so flattered!" he crooned into her ear when she finally pulled away. He looked down at her adoringly. She smiled up at him happily, blue eyes shinning in the dim light. He took a moment to memorize the expression on her face and the feel of her hand on the back of his neck, gently stroking. "You're beautiful," he sighed.

She laughed softly and blushed under the intensity of his gaze. He was driving her insane, watching her intently while pressing his fingers lightly along the length of her clit, refusing to move them, to add the friction she craved. She could move—rub herself against him if she wanted—but that would be desperate and he would not be pleased. This was a game of delayed gratification, she knew, and she would not be the first one to cave.

"You're handsome," she murmured back to him.

"Do you really think so?" he rested his chin on her left breast and looked up at her adoringly.

"Yes," she groaned, looking up to the ceiling for strength. When she looked down at him again, he was watching her knowingly.

"You never talk sweet to me, Lizzie…say more nice things," he grinned suggestively, simultaneously fishing for compliments and letting her know he would pay her back in kind. His fingers didn't budge. He was waiting. Liz rolled her eyes at his newly set terms, but complied.

"You smell wonderful," she sighed sincerely, and he chuckled. "I don't know what cologne or aftershave that is, but it's amazing…" she leaned forward and pressed her face into his neck, breathing him in deep before placing a few chaste kisses up the side and along his jawline. He groaned and leaned into her

"What else?" he growled into the shell of her ear before nuzzling down the side of her neck and lightly dipping his tongue into the hollow of her collarbone at the base. She gasped and felt a fresh rush of liquid heat between her legs. She growled in frustration and slammed one fisted hand on the mattress.

"You…you're…" she tried to think of something else to say, some other compliment, but his mouth was hot in just the right spot on her neck, and his fingers, while not moving, were pressed right along the seat of what felt like her entire nervous system. Grinding her teeth together and trying to focus, she managed to ground out "…really smart."

She felt his breath against her neck as he slumped a little and chuckled silently against her.

"Really smart?" he echoed, looking up at her, amusement written all over his face. "Is that the best you can do?"

"Red, you're killing me," she nearly panted, ashamed at how breathless and needy her tone was . "I can't _think_ , much less _talk_ with your hand down my pants…please!"

She swore she felt him shudder against her pleasurably in reaction to her pleading, but his expression only grew more impish.

"You're right, how rude of me," he intoned mischievously and began to pull away from her.

"No!" she cried, gripping his arm, trying to make him remain in place. "Don't stop!"

"Oh no?" he grinned at her evilly. "Well now I'm confused."

"You're a lot of things," she grumbled. " _Confused_ isn't one of them." She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes.

Red quirked an eyebrow at her, still grinning, still pressing his fingers in just the right spot, and leaned down to whisper in her ear. "You're right, Lizzie. I know _exactly_ what I'm doing."

He finally slid the pads of his fingers unhesitatingly across her center and was rewarded with her cry of pleasure and surprise. He stifled his answering groan into the curve of her neck and settled into a rhythm with his fingers, working her over and over again while she squirmed and cried out against him. She surprised him, cupping his face to pull him away from her neck and kissing him hard, moaning into his mouth and clutching at him almost desperately.

He was painfully hard, pressed against her hip, but he ignored his own arousal, and focused on committing every sound she made, every caress and press of her body against his own, to memory. She was soft and pliant beneath him, slick and hot and sweet. She was panting and crying in time with his fingers…it was everything he'd ever wanted, ever hoped for, to have her like this underneath him…and he hadn't even removed her clothes.

"Red," she whimpered, bringing him back to the present. "You feel so _good_ …" The look he gave her—eyes dark with lust, and promise—made her shiver beneath him. She leaned up and fastened her mouth to the side of his neck, passing her lips, teeth and tongue ever-so-lightly over the spot where she'd marked him with that pen. He groaned and she felt his fingers pause briefly against her, and after a moment, he remembered himself and started again, working slick, furious circles that made her vision blur. She smiled against his skin and kissed the side of his neck once more, pulling his chest to hers and wrapping her arms around him. " _Red_ ," she moaned into his ear, knowing it was making him crazy to hear her talk to him while he did this to her. "You're going to make me _cum_ …"

" _Lizzie_ ," he growled, pressing her chest back down into the mattress and increasing the speed of his fingers, smiling as her eyes rolled back into her head, and swallowing the sweet breathy little sounds she made with his mouth over hers. She was moving against him again, bucking her hips into his hand, almost gone. With his weight on one elbow, he reached and pulled down the neckline of her shirt and the soft-cupped bra beneath, exposing her creamy breast to the air. She groaned in approval, and when he quickly took her rosy nipple into his mouth and sucked it taut, she cried out—almost screamed—and bucked against him, hovering over the edge at the sudden onslaught of sensation. It was so _good_ …and she was so _close_.

He didn't stop. Wouldn't stop. He could stroke her, nibble her, feast on her for days if he had to. This was heaven, as far as he was concerned. And the fact that she was allowing this? Allowing him to touch her like this? Demanding it, even? He groaned and pressed himself against her again.

"Put your fingers inside me," she whispered to him with that wonderfully, delightfully dirty mouth of hers, rendering him speechless and completely dick dumb. When he didn't comply right away, she pressed her hip directly into his groin, right up against his swollen cock, and he bucked against her involuntarily. "Red, please?" she added with a small laugh.

His eyes met hers, watched her intently, observing her expression as he slowly slid both his index and middle fingers into her. She shuddered, closing her eyes. He felt her clench around his fingers, heard her desperate little moans as she moved herself ever-so-slightly along them. Her expressions and reactions to him were so real, so _earnest_ , Red shook his head in disbelief, overjoyed at his sheer dumb luck that she should want him this badly.

"Oh sweetheart, you're so _tight_ ," he moaned, pressing his forehead to her bare breast and gritting his teeth. He couldn't stop thinking about how wonderful it would feel to bury his aching cock into her…how _snug_ and _slick_ she would feel around him. "Tell me this is good for you…" he breathed, pleading. "Please, Lizzie!" he rasped.

" _So_ good," Liz managed to pant as he swirled his fingers inside of her and then deliberately pressed the pad of his thumb against her center. She bucked her hips against him then and made a strangled sound deep in her throat. He pulled her mouth to his roughly, kissed her hard, deep, and when he pulled away, she put her hand on the back of his neck and whispered earnestly into his ear, "So _good_ , Red!"

Something inside him snapped. He growled something obscene into her collarbone, then returned his mouth to her nipple to suckle and tease the sensitive nub in time to the rhythm of his thumb on her clit and his fingers inside her. He'd made a crude comment to her once about his knowledge of the g-spot, and it was time he showed her he wasn't all talk. He pressed his fingers inside her, swirled them just _there_.

" _Red_ ," she keened and rocked against him.

"Yes, sweetheart, let it happen!" he encouraged her breathlessly against her skin.

Her vision was blurring, the pressure was building, and she was past the point of no return. "Oh Red, _fuck_ … _yes_ … _yes!_ …" she gripped his shoulders and came apart in his hand, crying out, kissing him, clutching at him and clenching at his fingers inside her over and over again in the most pleasurable way possible. She shuddered and shivered mindlessly against him, and when she was finally spent, collapsed beneath him and stared up at him in wonder, gasping for air.

He gently, slowly removed his fingers from her sex, and she sighed at the loss. His eyes caught hers and dared her to look away as he slid those same fingers into his mouth and sucked them clean, groaning in delight as her savored the taste of her cum, his expression positively lascivious.

"You're delicious," he whispered.

"Thank you," she blushed at his display, aroused and pleased by his compliment and comfort with her body. She vaguely conjectured that he might do some absolutely scandalous things to her with his mouth later, and grinned wickedly at the thought. His eyes narrowed and he grinned knowingly back at her. She reached up and pulled his face to hers, pressed her mouth to his, and slid her tongue as sensuously over his as she could manage, wondering if she could still taste herself on him. She couldn't, but the sound he made, and the way he moved against her and reminded her that he was still hard and pressed against her hip, made the effort very well worth it.

She interlaced her leg with his, and before he could realize what she meant by it, she used it as leverage to roll over on top of him and straddle his midsection.

"Lizzie," he muttered warningly as she slid her body downward to grind her still-clad sex against the hard length in his jeans. He grabbed her hips with his hands, desperate to stop her before things went too far. "Lizzie, I swear to you I only meant to reciprocate…not initiate."

"You're kidding," she reached down and gripped his wrists, knowing that he could break free at any moment, reveling in the fact that he was choosing not to. "That was way beyond mere reciprocation!" She settled her weight down on his hips, above the erection snaking its way down his left leg, sitting astride him and using her weight on top of him to keep him in place. "It's my turn now." He was not getting away this time.

Red was still gripping her hips, eyes closed tight, holding on for dear life and fighting a clearly loosing battle to keep himself in check. Liz watched him struggle, watched the emotions passing back and forth across his face. She waited calmly, quietly, for him to settle and begin what she knew would be his usual arguments against further intimacy between them.

She reached down between them and cupped him through his jeans without warning. He jumped and twitched against the palm of her hand as she touched him for the first time and fondled his promising length through the denim fabric. His eyes found hers, found her watching him aptly with great interest as she did this to him, and he groaned involuntarily before coming to his senses and striking like a cobra between them to grab at the hand massaging his cock.

"Lizzie, please," he pulled her hand away from him and brought it up to his chest, clutching it hard. "I can't do this."

"All evidence to the contrary," she smirked and proceeded to sit astride him again, almost-but-not-quite above the referenced "evidence." She sat up straight and took his hand in hers. As he watched, she slid it up against her cheek and pressed her face into his palm affectionately. His expression softened immediately.

"It's not that I don't want to, sweetheart," he chuckled, cupping her face with both hands and bringing her down for a brief kiss. "Never that," he sighed.

"Then _what_?" she heaved dramatically, and laid her upper body down along his chest. Her face was in his neck and seeking the little white spot that marked him as hers. She kissed it gently once, and then again with an open mouth and a graze of teeth. He shivered, recognizing the significance of her maneuver—dominant, possessive, claiming—and she was doing it to _him_!

He groaned, and she chuckled, attacked him once again, ran her mouth over his neck, ran her hands over his chest, slid herself down and ground herself all over his erection. He was alert, but restrained beneath her, clasping her sides, seemingly incapable of stopping her but simultaneously unable to participate in her un-doing.

"Lizzie," he croaked, pleadingly. Her fingers found his nipples through his t-shirt and she pinched them, teasingly rolling them between her fingers while he squirmed and twitched beneath her. "Oh, sweetheart, I can't!" She kissed him full on the mouth then, demanding, insistent.

"You can, and you will," she growled and lifted the front of his shirt to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his lower stomach.

"Lizzie," He groaned, trying to pull his shirt down with one hand and pull her back up with the other. It was no use. She brushed his hands away, ripped up his shirt once more and proceeded to trace a figure eight with her tongue on his stomach. The top loop of the eight encircled his navel, and Red made a sound she'd never heard from him before, followed by a strangled "Lizzie!" She smiled and chuckled against the soft flesh of his stomach and reached down once again to put her hand firmly on his cock. "Elizabeth!" he cried out desperately, his voice cracking on the first vowel. He looked down at her in panic, shocked and too aroused to think clearly. She met his gaze, smiled wickedly, and began to unbutton his jeans. She _made_ him watch, eyes never leaving his face as she pulled the button free, located his zipper and began to slide it down the length of his fly, daring him to stop her.

He didn't.

He was powerless, completely defenseless. He'd gone too far, and now they were over the cliff. He let out a few disbelieving huffs of laughter at the ceiling that this was actually happening…that the moment was actually here. His pants were completely undone, and she looked up at him for a response, for direction. He could only stare at her pleadingly, too unworthy and conflicted, unable to ask her for more, unwilling to beg her not to stop, to _pleaseLizzieplease!_ He could only wait in awe of her next move…

She slid up him once again and put her mouth on his, lightly, testing the waters of his resistance…and he kissed her back, god _help_ him, he kissed her back. And it was glorious. And it was all the confirmation she needed.

She slid back down the length of his body _slowly_ , _deliberately_ , and his delighted " _Lizzie!"_ was ringing gloriously in her ears. He sounded amazed, he sounded reverent. She grinned and laughed at his unabashed enjoyment of her. It made her bold and she used that feeling to reach down between them, slide her fingers beneath the elastic of his silk boxers and grip the base of his cock firmly.

She barely had a moment to register the feel of him over the sound he made. He reached up to grip her shoulders, not to hinder, just reflexively to connect and hold onto her, as though his entire world had been dissolved by the feel of her small hand wrapped around his dick.. She moaned along with him and had just enough time to take in how hard he was, how _thick_ and _hot_ , and velvety smooth the skin of his cock was, stretched tight beneath her fingers and against her palm, and the way he twitched when she squeezed him playfully, and cried out, and fucking _writhed_ beneath her… _oh god…_

A knock sounded at the door up above.

They both froze in sudden terror, and Red suddenly hissed, "It's 4:30, Lizzie—it's Eli!"

* * *

I promise, the next chapter won't take so long. And I delight for comments.


	10. Chapter Ten - Day Four, Part Three

Speaking of boner-killers…Watching Red clutching a dead Liz's hand to his cheek, completely devastated? Yeah, that'll kick you right in the feels—it completely drained me of my will to write.

And then that finale. I mean…really? Liz was in on it? It's so cruel. Why do I even watch this show?

Because I'm addicted. I'm addicted to Cracklist and James Spader.

I'm sorry this took so long. Here you go, Frosty Fingers.

* * *

"Dammit," Liz pulled away quickly, sighing deeply in disappointment as she did so. Red could only shake his head in disbelief at the timing of it all as he adjusted himself and zipped up his jeans. She watched him, disappointment clear in her expression. Their gazes met and he immediately cupped his hand around the back of her head, pulling her lips against his lightly.

"Later," he grumbled huskily before burying his nose in the curve of her neck, inhaling and taking one last hit of her scent.

"Later," she whispered back, grinning. It was a promise.

Regretfully, Liz stood up first and efficiently straightened her clothes. Red promptly slid off the bed behind her, chuckling a bit, and when she turned to see why, he pointed to them both and muttered, "We're still both completely dressed."

"Not for lack of trying," she grinned and shook her head.

He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek as he passed by, quickly grabbing the bag of dirty laundry and towels and climbing up the steep stairs to the door at the top.

Red unlatched it and greeted Eli politely, thanking him as he handed over the laundry and accepted the bag of clean clothing and towels. Liz moved to the bottom of the stairs to take the bag and wave up at Eli. She unpacked it and put the contents in their proper places while Eli gave Red a quick update. She tried to listen in, but their voices were too hushed. She quickly ran into the bathroom to catch a glimpse of her appearance before attempting to join Red at the top of the stairs and was glad she did—she was not fit for company, being simultaneously tear-stained from the the emotional conversation earlier and sexed-up from the activities that had followed. She smiled ruefully at her reflection in the mirror.

She took the moment to use the bathroom and clean herself up a bit—Red's clever fingers and unyielding enthusiasm had certainly accomplished results. She sat quietly for a few minutes after using the toilet, enjoying some time to herself to replay the afternoon in her head over and over again, savoring her new memories of them.

She grinned stupidly at the floor, giddy over the prospect of a meal and another night together with Red—on their new bed. They could watch the tiny black and white TV together, maybe put it on in the background while they lounged and played cards, and drank and talked late into the night with the noise of the bar overhead…maybe he'd let her get to third base, maybe not, but she could guarantee that tonight, at the very least, she would get to fall asleep in his arms, wrapped up in his embrace, safe in their strange, one-room, underground world.

She couldn't wait.

There were footsteps almost directly above her, as the bathroom was beneath and behind the staircase. She heard Red come back down the stairs. She stood and washed her hands at the tiny sink, studying her reflection again in the mirror. There was no make-up in her bag of toiletries, but she'd had a chapstick on her when they fled. She used it now on her slightly swollen mouth to great effect and dropped it back into her bag. She missed her mascara and her perfume, especially down here in front of him. When they got out of here, she would have to procure some; come at this experience as he did—all tops and tails.

She was brushing out her hair when Red's hurried feet on the stairs above startled her terribly. What on Earth?

She had left him, left him out there alone with the door above wide open…

She bolted from the bathroom, believing immediately that something was wrong, and came around to the bottom of the staircase in a flash. Realizing furiously that her gun was on the other side of the room, Liz cursed herself for letting her guard down.

She looked up at Red in a panic and saw that he was at the top of the stairs, merely attempting to grapple with a large, clearly heavy cardboard box. Sighing a deep breath of relief and feeling foolish, Liz moved up the stairs to help.

"Are you alright?" he asked, setting the box down on the top step and reaching down for her hand. "You're white as a sheet."

"I'm fine," she shook her head ruefully. "let's just say this all sounds a lot more scary inside the bathroom."

"Ah," Red nodded in understanding, then laughed. "Thank you for rushing to my aid, Lizzie."

"No problem," she shivered uneasily, trying to shake the bad feelings, laugh with him at the thought of her trying to go all white knight on the situation—but she couldn't quite shake it off. They were vulnerable. They were still incredibly vulnerable, and she had forgotten that fact—she had left Red out here alone while the door above was open.

How had she even thought to leave her partner alone while the door was open—much less actually do it? It was beyond her. She was horrified, slapped in the face with harsh reality. Murderer, criminal , fugitive.

"How can I help?" she cleared her throat. Red was gripping her hand tightly and staring at her intently with concern. "I'm fine, I promise…I was spooked," she admitted. "Give me something to do, please," she squeezed his hand and released it. "This box looks heavy."

"It's actually a case of wine!" Red accepted her redirection and opened it up to show her the foiled bottle-tops nesting in their cardboard packing. "There are twelve bottles in here—can you grab a few off the top?"

"Yup," she plucked the top six bottles and ran downstairs to put them on the shelf, then ran back up and repeated the gesture with the last six. Red met her then at the bottom of the stairs with two bottles of scotch balanced precariously atop another large cardboard produce box.

"More provisions!" he handed her the box with a wink and took the scotch bottles off it. He set the scotch on the table and went straight back up the stairs. Liz laughed at his enthusiasm and opened the produce box. The first thing she saw inside was a netted bag of fresh oranges and several other pieces of fresh fruit—fruit with peels and rinds that would keep well down here.

Red nimbly made his way back downstairs with yet another box of supplies.

"Look, we won't get scurvy!" she quipped, holding up the bag of oranges.

"Marvelous," he laughed. "We may get fat, however. Look in this one."

"Ooh," Liz lifted the lid. "Snacks!"

"Junk," Red muttered and shook his head. But he still chuckled at the sight of Lizzie joyously clutching a package of double-stuff Oreos and bag of potato chips as though they were her long lost friends reunited.

And then they were back up the stairs to meet Eli once more. Red passed down each of their dinner trays with a wink and a grin, and Liz saw immediately to her delight that Eli had made them the succulent bacon cheeseburgers once again. She brought the trays down and set them on their table, then practically flew back up the stairs to thank Eli profusely while he smiled in pleasure.

Red made the last trip upstairs to the door and bid Eli good night—a sentiment Liz echoed up the stairs as they closed up the heavy hidden panel together and locked it tight.

Liz moved to the wall to arrange the wine bottles on the shelf. She studied each label curiously, wondering what wines Red had selected or requested along with his bottles of scotch. Eli wouldn't bring Red just anything—this was the good stuff. Some bottles were the same Malbec from Argentina, and the another three…Bordeaux with labels all in French. All red wine, of course. She rolled her eyes.

"Bring over a Malbec, Lizzie," Red implored, setting his tray down on the table as well. She quickly grabbed two glasses and the corkscrew and did as he requested. Only when she turned to face him did she realize he had brought an additional black duffle bag back downstairs, and was setting it on the corner of their bed. Cold fear suddenly stuck her, raising gooseflesh on her arms and legs. She set the wine and glasses on the table and nodded towards the bag.

"What's in there?"

"Weapons, some items that may be of use to us when we're ready to go, a few of these," Red held up a little black burner phone and Liz was sick over the sudden, inexplicable wave of raw fear that hit her at the sight of that little phone and the thought of all it represented. It hadn't even occurred to her yet to ask Red to relay the update he'd received from Eli; maybe they weren't about to have a cozy little evening together—for all she knew, they could be moving out of here tonight!

She sat down at the table, swallowing thickly, and began to peel the foil off the bottle of wine. That done, she uncorked it quickly and poured a glass for each of them. If Red had asked her to open wine and just restocked their hideout with fresh provisions, they probably weren't leaving tonight. She needed to calm herself.

"When are we going?" she managed to ask, choking back tears over the impending loss of this stupid little cellar sanctuary. The thought of leaving was immediately enormous and far too heavy to bear.

Suddenly her vision blurred and she couldn't catch her breath. She gasped for air, taking in shallow lungful after lungful, but it wasn't enough. She immediately put her head between her knees and attempted to breathe deeply. She was so foolish. She had forgotten the danger—they weren't safe. Things might never be safe again.

"Oh, Lizzie!" Red was on his knees next to her immediately, running his palms over the length of her back and stroking her hair. "What's happened, sweetheart?"

"It just hit me all at once," she was finally able to say a few minutes later, wiping her eyes, blowing her nose on the paper towel he pressed into her trembling hands, and laughing inwardly to think that she'd just recently missed wearing her mascara. "The thought of leaving here…I'm so afraid." She swore she could hear Red's thoughts as he considered her words. "I know, I know," she sighed and shook her head despondently. "You were right."

"About what?" .he crooned as he passed his hand back and forth between her shoulder blades soothingly.

"You've been telling me all along that this was only the beginning…that I don't have my feet under me yet. And I didn't listen, as usual," she grumbled. "I forgot about our circumstances…that we aren't safe.

"It's okay," he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to his chest. "It's going to all be okay. The only thing you have to do right now is hold it together, Lizzie—don't panic and leave the rest to me, sweetheart." He kissed her temple gently. "And to answer your question, my associate has encountered a complication…something about things overheating from all the data processing and a series of hard drive failures. He's going to need the full time to get back on track. I'm afraid we're sitting tight for another few days…you have some time to prepare."

She breathed deeply and clutched him tightly to her, allowed him to comfort her. Eventually she loosened her hold and he did the same. Red rose to his feet and gave her a quick peck on the lips as he stood. "Come on, your burger is getting cold."

He positioned her tray in front of her and went around to his setting, scooping up the glass of wine she'd poured him along the way. "Oh, look at that giant piece of cake, Lizzie!" Red pointed disapprovingly to his slightly smaller slice of cake. "Blatant favoritism! I bet your cheeseburger has an extra strip of bacon on it too," he sighed disdainfully. Liz shook her head at his clowning and obvious attempt to distract her from her sudden panic attack. It worked, however, and she was able to take a deep breath and catch his gaze.

"He did say he made these for me," she managed to quip, feeling the anxiety subside and enjoying the freedom of filling her lungs at will. "But I will gladly divvy up the totality of our collective bacon with you, babe…if it will make you feel better," she grinned over at him and began to arrange her food.

"I'll make do with what I've got, babe," Red sniffed delicately, still teasing, still working to lighten her mood. "And as much as I appreciate the sentiment, that cannot be your chosen pet name for me."

"What? Why not?" she frowned.

"I'd prefer something original," he grumbled, and Liz rolled her eyes in understanding; she'd always called Tom 'babe.'

"Any specific requests?" she smirked. "Traditional? Food-based? Cupcake?" she intoned dryly. "Gumdrop?" He scowled at her mocking. She smiled back radiantly and offered up "Honeybear?"

"Honeybear?" he chuckled suddenly. "I'm rather partial to that."

"Alright," she gave him an official nod, going with the bit. "Pass me the ketchup, Honeybear!"

He did so with a bit of a flourish, pursing his mouth in amusement, his gaze holding hers all the while. She took the ketchup with a jaunty nod of thanks, and proceeded to apply the condiment to her burger. He was watching her carefully, and after a moment the mood shifted; she could sense that he had something serious to say.

"As far as name requests, Lizzie…" he hesitated and looked away and down at his plate when she met his eyes. "I was wondering if you would perhaps…consider calling me Raymond…when it's just the two of us, like this," he looked over at her warily.

Even hearing him say his own first name sounded strange…he was "Red" to her. He was always "Red" to her. It had to be that way. Until now, anything else would have been wrong. "Raymond" was too close, too intimate. "Raymond" was a stranger to her…

Yet now, it was right somehow—Raymond was the man down here with her. Raymond wore denim and t-shirts. Raymond made her coffee in the French press every morning and poured her glasses of red wine each night.… and Liz didn't know Raymond. Raymond had made her see stars, intimately, not even a half-hour ago, but he was practically a stranger to her. He was right to point out that this new persona needed a name, and ironically, it wouldn't be a pet name at all.

"Raymond," she breathed hesitantly, noting the way his eye twitched when he heard her. "Raymond," she tried it again, her tone approving. It felt natural—endearing even—to say. He could never be just Red to her again.

His eyes closed in appreciation, as though he were savoring the sound of his name from her lips. "Ray," she smiled slowly, knowingly, over at him, connecting the face and the name. His eyes snapped open, gaze burning into hers. "Or do you only prefer Raymond?" She took another sip of her wine and winked at him over the rim of her glass.

"It all sounds good to me, Lizzie," he smiled softly. She nodded back happily, in agreement, and raised her wine glass towards him. He reached forward with his own glass, clinking it lightly in cheers against hers, and they toasted together.

"So," Liz began later, around a mouthful of her burger. "Do I get a new name too? What are you going to call me now?"

"Lizzie…" Red chuckled, half in reply, half in exasperation.

"Really? Still?" she sighed deeply in mock disappointment.

"To me, always," he nodded. "But I'll supplement it on occasion, if you like," he grinned at her. "Sweetheart," he added with a chuckle as he popped a piece of cucumber from the salad into his mouth and chewed. "Besides, I'd be interested to see how Lizzie and Raymond get along…just for now." He wiped his mouth with his napkin and sat up straight. "What do you think?" he caught her eyes, his expression curious, hopeful.

"I think it's a good idea," Liz smiled softly. Then shook her head and rolled her eyes. "This is wild," she gasped. "What are we doing? I think it's a good idea," she imitated herself, then laughed. "It is not a good idea at all…we both know that," she looked over at Red wistfully, and he sighed in acknowledgement. "But, I'm going to do it anyway," she chuckled suddenly. "Because I'm crazy about you, and I can't help it."

She had half a second to register his delighted expression before he was immediately next to her, pulling her into his arms, crushing her fiercely against him. "Me too, Lizzie," he hissed. "Me too, sweetheart."

They were both carefully avoiding use of the the word Love. She could feel it. Somehow, saying that word wasn't right, yet.

Liz mused on the irony of it—if there was anything she could be certain of, it was the fact that Raymond Reddington loved her…and even though she could only just recently admit it to herself, she knew she was in love with him too.

She would tell him. Soon.

Liz grinned against his chest and tightened her arms around his torso at the thought of it. She would say it to him the instant it was right…but he wasn't ready to hear it now.  
He wouldn't even believe her if she said it now, and she wouldn't blame him, given the current state of things. To tell him she loved him would be premature at this point—but when that pivotal moment finally arrived, Liz had every intention of seizing it ferociously. How long had he waited? How long had he waited and wanted her love? Wanted her? It would be pure, sharp pleasure, the sweetest release to tell him she loved him. She shivered against him in anticipation.

She moved up on her tiptoes and pressed her mouth warmly, languidly against his, then wrapped her hands up over his shoulders from behind. His hands were immediately in her hair, cradling her head, then clutching her shoulders and squeezing them fiercely, playfully, to convey his pleasure and excitement. She laughed lightly against his mouth, then kissed him again, caring about nothing else except the feel of his lips, so soft, so strong, so…uninhibited, against hers. He pulled her against him, molding her body against his possessively. She kissed him until she was breathless with need, flushed with desire, and had to choose between pulling away or pushing him back down onto the bed…

He sensed her sudden indecision and ever-so-gently separated his mouth from hers. He buried his face into the side on her neck, breathing deeply. He did not loosen his grasp around her in the slightest. He inhaled her scent, calmed himself, and reveled in the simple delight of holding her close. She would never touch him before, and he had every intention of savoring the feel of her in his arms as often as he could.

"I could make out with you all night," she surprised him, whispering huskily into the shell of his ear. "You have the most amazing mouth, Red."

"Oh Lizzie," he groaned, smiling foolishly at her compliment. "Let's do it," he sighed rapturously into the curve of her neck. She chuckled and he joined in. Together they laughed and swayed, each holding the other tightly, neither willing to be the first to let go. Who knew it could be this thrilling just to hold someone? And what a simple luxury it was to remain in contact—to openly enjoy the touch of the other person.

For the first time, he could hold her, and he didn't have to let her go, didn't have to hide how much he thrilled to her every touch. There was no more uncertainty, no more hesitation, no more holding back.

"Isn't this nice?" he whispered,

"Yes," she whispered back. "Absolutely."

"Though, we should probably finish our meal at some point," he murmured.

Liz sighed, making no effort what-so-ever to step away from him. "At some point."

He chuckled into the hair on the top of her head and tightened his grip around her. She squeezed him in response and rested her head against his shoulder.

"I don't want you to be afraid of leaving here," he rumbled against her after a few moments. He slid one large hand back and forth between her shoulder blades, then down the length of her spine and up again, soothing her.

"Is that really what you're thinking about right now?" she snorted lightly against his collarbone at the non sequitur.

"Among other things," he slid his hand down her back once more to cup her right butt cheek and squeeze it playfully. She fisted her hand in his shirt between his shoulder blades and held back a moan. "We have so many wonderful adventures and experiences ahead of us, darling," he crooned in her ear. "Don't forget how much we have to look forward to."

"I haven't forgotten," she chided lightly. "It was a momentary thing…I'm excited for Dubai."

"You should be! I have my own private island there, Lizzie—Do you know about the Islands of the World? We'll be quite safe—you don't have to worry. At this stage in the game, the real danger is here. And it's a heady thing, being on the run—it'll be quite the joy ride," he smirked, then pulled away from her just enough to look down into her eyes. "I must say—though I wish the danger weren't so real, and despite my concerns for your safety—I'm looking forward to introducing you to this side of life…to sharing these experiences with you."

"To showing me the power of the dark side?" she intoned, causing him to roll his eyes. She laughed. "No, I understand what you mean…me too," she smiled up at him.

He pulled her close to him again in genuine excitement.

"For the longest time I've wanted to re-experience the world with you be my side…see it all through your eyes, Lizzie. You cannot comprehend my disbelief and joy over the fact that it's actually happening."

"Well," she groaned a little. "Sadly, it's not happening just yet." She stole a quick glance around their dank cellar hide-away and briefly imagined Red's home on—of course—his own private island. "There's sunlight in Dubai, right?"

"A great deal of it," he chuckled.

"Is that why you're frequently so tan?" she grumbled a little.

"One reason, yes. I own several other properties in a variety of other sunny locations as well," he informed her smugly. "Perhaps when this is all over, we can vacation briefly at one—or all—of them. It's important to reward oneself for a job well done," he replied stoically, then grinned and pressed a brief kiss to her mouth.

"Sounds good," she squeezed him.

They broke apart then, and returned to their meal. Liz finished her burger and salad, then stared at her dessert.

"I'll eat you later," she muttered to the piece of cake, then leaned back in her chair to relax and enjoy the rest of her wine. Red watched her, amused, as he did the same—setting his cake aside and holding only his wineglass. She met his gaze and smiled.

"What made you choose this wine?Is it rare?" she asked, taking a discerning sip of her own, thinking that it was good, but not really knowing why. "Really old and expensive?"

"No, just an exceptionally good product from a good year," he smiled and took another swig. "I was quite elated when Eli said he had a few bottles in stock. It's exactly what I would have picked up at the store to go with burgers and a night in," he held his glass up to her in a small toast to the evening ahead.

"Look at you and me…having a night in," Liz grinned. "Another glass, please."

Red surprised her by rising and coming around to her side of the table to pour the requested glass. He could have simply reached across the table, but instead he stood next to her, much closer than was necessary, and stole a kiss before he tipped the bottle into her glass with some skill.

Liz smiled, mouth tingling, to imagine how this would have worked before the Cabal had entered their lives. They'd be together, fresh from the thrill of taking down another blacklister of the week, holing up in whatever safe house or hotel he was staying at for the night…good wine, good company…another challenge on the distant horizon, but safe for now…Why had she never spent more of the good times with him? It was beyond her. She'd never smiled with him, joined in with him, had fun with him when the many opportunities had presented themselves. What a waste! Well, no more.

As soon as Red set the bottle down, she was on him, lightning-quick. She leapt up to clasp his hand just as he turned back to his seat. His mouth formed a small "oh!" of surprise as she pulled him flush against her and held him there, entwining her arms around him. He smiled and chuckled a little at her forcefulness, but she silenced him quickly, grabbing his collar with both fists and tugging until his face was close enough to kiss him fiercely.

"Come over here with me, Ray," she whispered against his mouth, hooking her index fingers into the two front belt loops of his jeans and pulling him with her as she stepped backwards towards the bed.

"Lizzie," he paused, his tone hesitant.

"No," she yanked him towards her, reversed their positions and practically threw him onto the mattress. "No hesitation, no shyness…We're beyond that now," she groaned, before covering his body with her own and burying her face in his chest.

He sat up to meet her and pulled her into a position straddling his hips. He clutched at either side of her waist with his hands, and his eyes locked with hers, assessing. She smiled down at him beatifically and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. Slowly but steadily, she drew him in and lightly pressed her forehead to his.

"I'm only asking you to kiss me, Raymond," she murmured, leaning in so that her mouth brushed against his as she said it. "I won't ask for anything else…just the feel of you against me, maybe on top of me, and your mouth on mine," she whispered, moving her lips softly over the stubble of his cheek, placing her words along his jawline. He was twitching, almost trembling beneath her. She could feel him toeing off his shoes, his feet moving on the floor and giving him away. "Please," she rumbled against the skin of his neck, just behind his ear. She pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss there, and he lost it.

He reared beneath her with a furious growl and nearly flung her off him, flipping her onto her back on the next section of mattress—goodness, their new bed was huge!

She sat up, prepared to protest what she believed was his rejection of her, only to see that he was frantically stripping off his jeans and shirt, leaving only his short-sleeved undershirt and dark maroon silk boxers. In a flash, he was above her, mouth to hers, warm and heavy, settling on top of her, pressing against her in a variety of delightful ways. She giggled wildly in the back of her throat, and realized that he was muttering something against her collarbone.

"Marvelous, sexy, glorious woman," Red hissed emphatically, sliding his hands over her possessively, reverently. . "God—the things you do to me Elizabeth! I want you so goddamn badly…I can't even fucking breathe," he gritted his teeth and gripped her upper arm through her shirt, as though to squeeze her flesh would help ease his lust, but his expression only darkened.

"Really?" she grinned up at him, thrilled at his response, watching, waiting, eager to see what he would do next.

"You might only need to kiss me," he growled. "But I need more."

"Yes," she moaned as he reached down and lifted her shirt with one hand, exposing her stomach to the open air. "Me too, Ray, please," she murmured. He proceeded to trail hot, wet kisses over her abdomen, grunting in approval at her words. "Tell me everything," she leaned down to whisper as closely to his ear as she could get, clenching her abs under his mouth. He looked up at her in surprise. She gently cupped his face with one hand and guided him back up the length of her body. "Tell me every wicked thing you need me to do to you," she purred, quirking an eyebrow at him.

His expression was priceless—stunned, aroused, then stunned again at what he was hearing.

"I want to know," she groaned, writhing beneath him. "Every single, glorious detail."

Red made an amazed, incredulous sound against her and raised his head to stare at her in delighted disbelief.

"The things you say to me, Elizabeth…" he hissed.

His eyes burned.

His hands reached for her hips. He hooked his thumbs into the elastic of her pants, and without warning, Red sat up suddenly and tugged them down over her hips and thighs, taking her underwear along with them.

"Red!" she squeaked in surprise.

He didn't stop. He casually lifted her legs up together over one of his shoulders, slid her pants and panties up their long, smooth lines, and finally pulled the garments off over her toes.

"Raymond! What are you doing?" she giggled, reaching for him as he slid her legs from their resting place on his shoulder and gently lowered them back down to the mattress together. He was quick to take her questing hand in his own and bring it to his mouth.

"I need to taste you, sweetheart," he leaned in over her and whispered in her ear, clearly enjoying the way she shivered in response. "That is what I need, Lizzie," he growled, and she moaned softly at the rush of liquid heat to her exposed sex, clutching at his shoulders involuntarily.. "I need to know what you sound like when you cum with my mouth on you," he continued, almost matter-of-factly.

"Oh," she moaned breathily, swelling at the thought, soaked. She squirmed involuntarily beneath him in anticipation. "But wait," she stopped moving and slid her free hand into the waistband of his boxers before he could prevent her. She found him immediately, encircling his shaft in her hot little hand and pumping him in one firm stoke from root to tip with a small sigh of pleasure.

He made a strangled sound she'd never heard anyone make in bed before—though she wouldn't mind hearing him make it again—and immediately grabbed her hand to stop her.

"But, it's your turn," she leaned up and pressed her lips to his. "I'm supposed to be doing this to you," she licked the shell of his ear. "I want to do this for you…"

He smiled adoringly at her, then reached up and cupped her face. "Believe me, sweetheart, in the future I have every intention of letting you do anything you want to me as often as you like," he chuckled. "Just not this time." He kissed her once more and began moving back down her body.

"Oh god," Liz muttered under her breath, trying to brace herself for what he was about to do to her, praying she didn't embarrass herself and taint the memory of the first time they'd shared in this most intimate activity, and ever-so-thankful that she'd thought to pay some attention to that area this morning with her razor in anticipation of something exactly like this…

He slid off the edge of the bed and playfully grabbed one of her ankles, pulling her bare-assed and giggling across the mattress until she was near the edge, then knelt on the floor almost chivalrously.

He slung one of her legs over his shoulder, unceremoniously spreading her out—pink and glistening—before his very eyes. She had exactly one second to feel self-conscious before he swathed his tongue precisely over her swollen nub, and she felt more than heard their mirrored, shuddering gasps of pleasure.

She was salt, musk and slick velvet on his tongue. He tasted and tested, nibbled and teased, a busy bee dancing in the most succulent of flowers. He savored each sound she made, each cry and whimper and moan, committed them to memory as swirled the flat of his tongue over her clit again and again, hardly daring to believe his luck. He would make it good for her. He had to make it good for Elizabeth—for Lizzie. Make it good for the beautiful woman writhing beneath him. Make her forget his monstrosity and his role in her undoing. Make her move and cry and moan like this for as long as she could stand it.

Both of her legs were over his shoulders now. His face was buried between them, eagerly, greedily licking and sucking while she tried desperately to stop herself from either bucking against him or grabbing his head painfully for support. Wave after wave of pleasure made her clench and shiver.

Unbidden, her mind wandered back to that first day, the way he'd sat shackled before her, entirely unburdened by his circumstances, confident 'til the end, staring her down, telling her she was special, that she was important to him…and look at him now.

"Please don't stop," she begged. Red chuckled against her, then slid his arms under her legs in response. He placed one flat hand on her stomach to help hold her still. He placed the other one on her hip and stoked the soft skin there lazily. She immediately reached down and clasped both his hands tightly in hers. Felt him squeeze her hands affectionately in return.

"You're delicious," he moaned as he pulled his mouth from her core and placed a juicy kiss to her inner thigh. "Delectable," he hummed, pressing his lips to her thigh once again, branding her skin with his words.

"Thank you," she breathed.

He raked his teeth over her femoral artery, bit down on the flesh around it almost to the point of pain…almost.

She shuddered and convulsed beneath him, hovering on the edge of her orgasm, unsure of what it was about his teeth just there that made her inner muscles spasm and twitch, but completely beyond the point of caring.

"Red!" She cried out in pleasure at the feeling of his fingers sliding into her once more, filling her, giving her something firm to clench with her fluttering inner muscles, something to writhe against. He moaned into her inner thigh, teeth still lightly clenched around a succulent mouthful of her sweet flesh. He marveled at how slick she was, at how responsive she was to his touch—to the way he loved her with his hands and his mouth. Sweet Jesus, she would kill him. He would never get his fill of her. Especially not like this.

Keeping his mouth against her leg, Red placed the thumb of his other hand firmly over the shaft of her clit. She groaned in relief, knowing immediately the end was near. He swirled it in a long oval once, then again and again until Liz thrashed beneath him and gripped his fingers tightly in the vice of her almost-orgasm. He immediately removed his mouth from her leg and pressed his tongue to the place his thumb had vacated. He fluttered it against her shaft, never ceasing the slight motions of his fingers inside her.

"Raymond…Oh!" She fell over the edge hard, shuddered, spasmed against him, cried out over and over before finally falling limp and quiet. He pulled his fingers from her after a moment, and she groaned in protest at the lost. He backed away from her just enough to remove her legs from over his shoulders. He then leaned back in and laid his head on her lower abdomen.

Red pressed his cheek against her soft stomach and waited for her breathing to slow. She placed one hand along the back of his skull, stroked the peach fuzz of his hair and cradled his head.

His fingers were coated with her wetness. He quickly reached down into the waistband of his boxers to grasp his painful erection with them—had he ever been this hard before?—and grant himself some relief. He smeared her juices around the head of his shaft, and was struck with the realization that it was Lizzie's essence on him. Her tight, slick chamber was only inches away and completely open to him if he wanted to fill it. The fact made him dizzy.

She would welcome him, he knew. She would make that sweet sound halfway between a giggle and a moan as he invaded and stretched her around him, then sigh in relief when he was finally sheathed to the hilt inside her…monster that he was, lecherous old man that he was…she would welcome him crawling on top of her.

He was suddenly sick at the thought of it. What was he doing? He couldn't allow that to happen, not to Lizzie. Suddenly, guiltily he came into his own furiously stroking hand against the side of the bed, grunting and moaning into her stomach,

"Oh no! Wait!" She whispered furiously, trying to sit up as he sighed then chuckled ruefully against her. "What did you just do?"

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Red pulled away from her and reached for the roll of paper towel on the table. "I was so hard, it hurt."

"But I wanted to…"

"It's alright, Lizzie."

He wiped himself clean as she sat up fully and shifted herself carefully to the edge of the bed. He surprised her then, reaching between her legs and gently wiping a clean sheet of paper towel from front to back, cleaning her up also.

"I hate to be sticky," he offered to her startled expression, then threw the soiled paper in the trash.

He turned around, faced her. She was sitting at the edge of the bed, pulling her pants and underwear up over her calves and thighs. He frowned.

Tentative, unsure, she looked up at him.

"That was…incredible," she breathed. "But…why wouldn't you let me touch you? After what you did for me?" she asked, her voice quavering slightly. "I don't understand…" she put her mortified face into her hands.

"Oh…Oh no," Red shook his head and sat next to her immediately, ashamed.

"It's because of this morning, right? I embarrassed you?" she whispered over her shoulder to him.

"Absolutely not," he clutched her, wrapped his arms around her entire body and squeezed hard. She relaxed against him, accepted his touch.

"Then why?"

He wasn't sure how to explain, how to voice the sick, unworthy feeling in his gut.

"It would have been so easy for me to—,"

"I know," he cut her off and sighed in frustration.

"I told you how much I wanted to—,"

"I know, I know," he groaned.

There was a moment of silence.

He did not loosen his grip on her. Liz took this as an encouraging sign. She could hear him gnawing on the inside of his cheek behind her. He was stressed and trying to think.

She took a deep breath. Reflected. Her entire body was warm, languid, and still occasionally spasming in pleasure. Had anything ever felt so good?

Her palms found the backs of his hands. She squeezed. Slid her fingers over his skin lightly, back and forth. Perhaps she could give him some of her bliss, some of the confidence and power he'd given her. Then he could open up to her.

He drew her a little closer against him. She pressed herself close in return. She turned in his arms, kissed him and pressed her face into his chest. He welcomed her touch, leaning into her, stroking her back. She wrapped her arms around him then, pulled him half on top of her, nuzzled into him.

"I'm still twitching," she whispered lightly up into his ear. He groaned and laughed against her in disbelief, grateful for the distraction from his sudden, crippling doubt. "You were amazing," she sighed, grinning into his collarbone foolishly. "I feel incredible."

He rolled back onto his side and faced her, incredulous at her words.

"Your mouth…" she trailed off again appreciatively, locking her big blue eyes on his.

"Thank you," he whispered, almost bewildered by her earnest endorsement, by the warmth in her gaze—he had never expected or even dared to hope that she would ever look at him like that. He stared at her in wonder before remembering himself. Grinning at her rakishly, but keeping his eyes sincere, he quipped "I'll happily repeat myself at your earliest behest."

"Oh really?" she sighed, with a chuckle. "Planning an encore already?"

"Yes. Several in fact."

"I don't suppose I might be allowed to share the stage at some point?" she asked trepidatiously, bringing them both back to the issue.

Red winced.

"You know…" she began softly, rolling to face him. "You know how much I care about you, right? Despite everything, I can't seem to shake you, Honeybear," her face broke into a huge grin, and his quickly followed.

He cupped her cheek while she grinned. Her eyes moved over the his familiar profile, instantly recognizable, infinitely dear to her. She smiled foolishly at him as she openly adored him. He gazed at her, marveled at how open she was to him, caressed her cheeks and jawline, smoothed the pad of his thumb across her forehead, observing intently the flickering changes in her micro-expressions.

"Yes, I know," he finally sighed. "It seems impossible that you could also want to be with me too," he leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers. She kissed him back warmly. "And yet,here you are, kissing me…on the mouth, even," he smirked when he pulled away. "I never even dared to hope you would…think of me that way."

"But I do think of you that way!" she sighed in frustration. "It's all I can think about! You…that way."

Red pursed his lips in amusement.

"Don't laugh—after the things you just did to me, I don't really have a choice," she jokingly whispered in his ear and honestly shivered against him. "I really wish you'd take the way I feel about you, seriously—take me seriously."

"I do!" He groaned. "But Lizzie, We're only a few days into these new circumstances. We have several more days down here…I just want you to be certain," he hissed against her cheek.

"I am certain," she huffed.

"Wouldn't you rather wait until we're in Dubai?" he changed tactics.

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know…real king size bed, Egyptian cotton sheets with insanely high thread counts, ocean breeze…"

"But we're right here, right now," she purred and slid her hands up under his t-shirt. She ran her fingers lightly threw the scattering of hair over his stomach and chest, pressed her mouth to his collarbone and hummed in pleasure.

"I don't want you to regret…" he started, sighing in exasperation.

"Why would I regret…?" she pulled back, looking sad.

"For a lot of reasons," he huffed. "I have secrets, Elizabeth. Enemies," I'm a monster. He pulled away from her then and threw his legs over the side of the bed. "What seems like a great idea now might not work out so well once we're back out there, with our problems catching up to us," he intoned, reaching for his jeans and his shirt. "You can't be sure this is going to work out like you want it to…"

"Oh, I am so tired of having this same argument over and over," she groaned, sitting up and watching him dress. "And always after you've kissed me or touched me—Do you really think I'll regret touching you more than letting you touch me? What is it with you?"

He stood, fully dressed now, and made his way back to the table to drain the dregs from his wine glass and pour himself another. He did not respond or even turn to look at her.

"Are you having regrets?" she was not stopping. "Why do you keep pushing me away?" she was sitting on the edge on the bed. He sighed deeply, but did not turn, and took another drink.

"Lizzie…I'm sorry—I've…I've let things go too far with us."

"You're a hypocrite," she flung at his back, rising and making a beeline for her own wineglass. He spun on his heel then and glared at her.

"I most certainly am not," he snapped, face suddenly red.

"You are," she hissed, draining her glass as well, glad to see she'd found her sticking point. "I see exactly what you're doing here and it's bullshit."

She took great strides towards him and leaned in until her face was directly in front of his. "How dare you put your hands and your mouth on me and then tell me it's all a mistake that I'm going to regret," she hissed. "Like it meant nothing to you, like it means nothing to me to be here with you. Shame on you!" she slapped the table top for emphasis and Red startled, caught her gaze in surprise. "Imagine if our roles were reversed, sweetheart," she let her anger make her tone sarcastic and thin, even as her expression remained sweet. She leaned in to whisper into his ear. "Imagine if I kissed you, touched you all over, loved you with my mouth until you cried out for me…"

Red's breath hitched in his throat for a moment, and she smiled at him knowingly before scowling at him terribly and taking a step back.

"Imagine then," she sneered coldly, then adopted his condescending tone and demeanor. "I took it back, said something stupid like, this probably isn't going to work out the way you want it to. Raymond—being with me is a mistake you'll regret…"

Even saying these things to him sarcastically made her throat clench and her stomach seize, but she put on an indulgent simper and patted Red's shoulder in mock-comraderie. "I've let things go too far between us," she stated, mimicking him viciously. "It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I'm afraid I don't believe you when you say you're crazy about me and would never regret…"

"I do believe you, Elizabeth…" he interjected, his expression pained.

"You don't!" she snapped. "You can't! Because if you did, then what you're doing now…what you're saying now, would be far too cruel—even for Raymond Reddington."

She was crying again. Big, stupid, fat tears.

His hands were braced firmly on the table and his gaze was fixed on the table-top between them. She was right of course, he was a cruel bastard and a complete hypocrite. He longed to pull her against him again, to touch her all over and tell her exactly how he felt, how much he loved her…but the image of his ugly, burned body, soul rancid with all of the secrets, lies and hurt he'd brought upon her, rutting on top of her innocent form flashed once more inside his head, and he winced again. Hard. He was cancer compared to her—a slow-spreading cancer that she wouldn't recognize until he consumed her and dragged her down with him.

I didn't want you to end up like me.

He shuddered and made his way to the shelf with the scotch. He could never bring himself to share that image with Lizzie. She wasn't for him. He'd known this all along, and still he'd tasted her, touched her…God, he was such a weak-willed bastard.

He couldn't share his thoughts with her. She would be horrified, or worse, understanding. He'd have to drink them away. Three fingers of scotch went into the tumbler and then straight down his throat.

"Please say something," she pleaded after he poured another.

"I'm so sorry, Lizzie," he turned and looked as weary and sad as she'd ever seen him. "I never meant to hurt you."

"Please say something that isn't a useless cliche," she snapped. "Your stubborn insistence on being taciturn is what hurts me, Raymond!"

Raymond. God, why had he ever asked her to call him by his first name? Hearing her say it in anger was a knife to his gut.

"Please," she tried again a little softer, approaching him and taking his hand in hers. "Please tell me what you're thinking, Ray….you can trust me."

"I know I can, Lizzie, I know I can," he squeezed her hand and released it. And when it was clear he had nothing else to add, she sighed, resigned.

"Well," she sniffed and straightened. "I'm sick of walking on eggshells around you, never knowing if you're going to pull me close, or push me away…" she quavered, then straightened again. "Whatever that's about, it's not getting resolved until you decide to open up and be honest with me."

She wrapped her arms around him tightly.

"At some point, you've got to let me in, Red. At some point, you have to accept the way we feel for each other, not the other way around," she whispered. "You know where I stand, now. Have the courage to stand there with me, sweetheart, baggage and all. You deserve to have someone care about you…and you should let it be me."

She kissed his cheek on tiptoes, noting the wetness on his face but saying nothing about it. He leaned into her kiss ever-so-slightly, but seemed paralyzed and unable to respond otherwise.

"Think about it and say something soon, please," she whispered, breaking his heart.

She stepped away from him then and picked up her bag in one hand and her left-over piece of cake in the other. He couldn't help but smile sadly at that.

"I'm going to go take a shower and spend a few minutes to myself," she spoke quietly as she passed him on her way to the bathroom. He nodded in acknowledgement as she passed. "I'll be out soon."

She closed the door and he wearily poured himself another drink.

* * *

I live for reviews.


	11. Chapter 11 - Day Five, Part 1

Anyone else excitedly dreading the Season 4 premiere? Fingers crossed, kids!

* * *

Liz stayed in the bathroom for almost two hours. Ate her cake slowly, methodically, because it was rich, chocolatey-thick, and worth savoring—she would thank Eli tomorrow—leaning against the sink with her back to the mirror.

She set her dishes in the little sink and turned on the shower. She didn't know what kind of hot water heater Eli had installed in this place, but it was scalding and there was plenty of it—a luxury for which she was grateful.

She undressed quickly and stepped under the spray that was scalding hot as she could possibly stand.

 _Cleansing by fire_ was the phrase that came to her mind. She would burn the memory of his touch away as best as she could.

Liz lathered, washed, repeated. Scrubbed hard until every part of her was shiny, pink, and raw to the touch, as chafed on the outside as she was on the inside.

Then she cried. Crouched down in the shower, and cried in humiliation and anger. How had she been so naive? So stupid? So foolish to let her guard down with him?

She was cringing again. Deep, clenching cringes that screwed up her face under the boiling spray.

He had started this whole entire thing. He had started this whole entire thing when he kissed her. Her half-asleep pawing of him was completely accidental—he'd _chosen_ to push her up against that wall and kiss her. She flinched at the thought of it. What a hypocrite he was.

She had kissed him out there and blissfully anticipated the moment she would tell him she loved him. The memory of it turned her stomach now, and she gagged once, twice in the safety of the shower stall.

Liz turned off the shower and wrapped herself in a towel.

The closed toilet lid was a solid seat. She stared into the distance and tried to imagine once again how the rest of this evening would go between them. She thought of how they'd so optimistically pushed their beds together that morning and found herself laughing aloud. She tried to stifle herself, but it was no use. How was Red going to handle that? She certainly wasn't going to help him put them back…

Still laughing a little, she found the strength to dress and apply the basic toiletries. She pondered her appearance in the mirror and splashed some cold water onto her face.

She brushed her long brown hair until it was smooth as silk and only a little damp.

Red would either have to sleep in the bed with her—something she knew would be torture for him—or he would have to sleep on the dirty concrete floor under the table. Either option was acceptable to her. She grinned evilly to herself. It would be interesting to see which one he chose.

She opened the bathroom door, dressed, clean, calm, collected.

He was slumped in his chair at the table, quite disheveled. He perked up slightly when he saw her, though, and waved his glass in her direction. She could see he was drunk. Really drunk. The entire bottle of scotch next to him was almost gone.

"Lizzie," he sighed. "How…how are you?"

She paused on her way to their bed and met his gaze, took in the picture he presented her; he was sad, haggard, like maybe he had the same sick feeling swimming around inside him.

However, liquor didn't seem as effective a coping mechanism as crying until one was limp in the bathroom. Red seemed upset, unsettled. He was staring at her, but seemed unable to speak.

Too bad for him. She was simply too empty to care.

Liz stowed her bag away under the bed, turned and made her way back to the table.

Red watched her approach with some trepidation.

"I'm tired," she replied, taking the scotch bottle from his grasp and putting it to her mouth. Three swallows and it was gone. She set the empty bottle down into his hand, picked up her half-empty wineglass and took a swallow of it for a chaser. She looked at him blankly. "…and I just want to go to sleep."

Everything burned for a moment, then felt wonderfully warm and fuzzy. She grabbed a bottle of water from the shelf next to her and turned back towards the bed. Lifting the covers, she crawled inside and across to the far side.

"Where would you like me to sleep?" Red cleared his throat behind her wearily.

"Wherever the hell you want," she muttered back, wrapping her arms around her pillow and clutching it to her chest with her water.

She heard him wince.

She settled on her side, facing away from him. Overhead, the bar was in full gear, and Liz was grateful for the various thumps, clumps and scrapes of chairs across the floor to break up the silence.

For awhile she went away in her head. At first, she tried to simply relive fond memories in her mind, but everything was tainted now. She had a second, parallel life—she was now aware of a whole alternative history to her existence. Red was a part of her in so many inextricable, extremely important ways. He had burned himself almost to death to rescue her from that fire, literally scarred himself for life. He had brought her to Sam when her mother committed suicide and she was orphaned. He'd committed himself to protecting her—made her a sheep in his fold. He knew the daughter of the infamous Katerina Rostova would always be in danger of being discovered…

He also knew she had the Fulcrum.

Suddenly reminded that Red was never completely genuine or entirely sincere—how had she forgotten that?—Liz breathed an angry sigh and tried vindictively fantasizing about a future without Raymond Reddington in it.

Except that was impossible.

No matter what she imagined, Red appeared, Red was there. She wanted him there. She wanted him there very, very much.

In the end, she could only lie awake, mind wearily working the issues at hand over and over, with no resolutions, until exhaustion overtook her.

Hours later she awoke in the semi-darkness as Red crawled into bed next to her, reeking of scotch and toothpaste. He seemed determined to occupy only the smallest edge of the mattress as far from her as possible and was taking great care not to disturb her.

Good, she thought meanly, yawning, spreading out and staking her claim to her side of the mattress space. She shifted into a more comfortable position and fell instantly back asleep.

* * *

Red was completely out cold the next morning. Liz awoke to find him facedown on the pillow next to her, snoring lightly. His breathing didn't even hitch as she climbed indelicately out of their bed and made her way to the bathroom.

He still hadn't awakened, or even moved, when she exited after washing and brushing her teeth. She imagined he must be terribly hungover.

Her own nightcap had been quite effective. She hadn't dreamt at all. Had barely been aware of his presence in the bed next to her. It could have been a completely miserable night, but it hadn't been, thank whiskey.

Should she have mercy on him? She wondered. She slid into her chair at the table and observed him. She could be quiet. She could let him sleep. She could bring him water and aspirin and be sweet to him when he woke. Hadn't he done the same for her just a few days before? It might be nice if she chose to be nice.

Or, she could be mean. Bang around, crash about—punish him for humiliating her and leaving her to burn in this uncertain space. She could have him cowering in the bathroom before lunch. An evil smirk crossed her lips. It was certainly an option.

But it was the obvious play. Revenge was a dish best served cold—Red had exemplified this tautology repeatedly. It would be far more twisted and effective to kill him with kindness. It would put him completely off-balance. She would let their enclosed circumstances and his own desire for her do the work—He would eventually relent. She had to be patient if she was going to break him. She had to be patient and control her anger and frustration with him.

It was time to act.

She was a ghost as she tidied up their space, silent and efficient. She cleared the plates and food from the night before and wiped down each surface. She organized their bags, taking her time to throughly familiarize herself with the small arsenal inside Red's fun new black bag of guns and bullets. She threw a few disposable cell phones into her own personal bag, then proceeded to stow everything away within easy reach. She would be prepared next time.

Red still did not move, still snoring, still face-down in the pillow. She placed a bottle of water and some ibuprofen on one of their chairs and moved it bedside for his easy reach.

She moved her mission into the bathroom, wiping down surfaces and arranging their toiletries. She swapped out their towels and compiled all their soiled laundry into the laundry bag, graceful and silent as a ninja.

Red was still unconscious when she came out. It was a surprise to see him so continuously inert. He never stopped moving or talking. What was he thinking, getting this drunk? Hadn't he berated himself furiously for doing the exact same thing just two nights before? After trying to push her away the first time? He was the one being the total hypocrite—what did he have to be upset about?

She wouldn't know until he decided to wake up. And even then, he probably still wouldn't tell her. Maybe he was even faking it right now…maybe he was trying to avoid that exact conversation with her…

She was giving some serious thought to dropping something heavy on the floor when he suddenly stirred. She turned to the shelf, startled, not ready to make eye contact, realizing that she was definitely in need of some coffee.

Red grunted and rolled over. As she took down the French press and bag of ground beans, Liz saw him reach out into the empty space of the bed, as though he were looking for her. Finding nothing, he opened his eyes and immediately winced.

"Lizzie?" he croaked.

"Here," she called softly, _nicely_.

He rolled over gingerly and caught sight of her, his eyes glassy. Liz met his gaze briefly and nodded an acknowledgement. Having ascertained her whereabouts, Red could focus on his demon of a hangover. He struggled to sit up, groaning and muttering to himself, then spotted the water and pills she'd left in the chair next to to the bed.

Liz was watching him secretly, furiously out of the corner of one eye as she deftly made them both coffee. The second he spotted the pills, she focused on her task nonchalantly. She could feel his eyes boring holes into her, watching, assessing her mood, attempting to create a game plan. But he was so hungover—Liz could almost feel his agony radiating from across the room—the only thing he could focus on was easing the pain.

The water was starting to boil.

Liz saw Red shake a few pills into his hand and put it to his mouth. She poured the water smoothly over the coffee grounds, agitating them gently as she did so. Red was watching her again as he drank his water. Liz proceeded to place the lid on the french press. She glanced up at him, met his eyes squarely.

"Thank you," he held up the empty water bottle in a small salute.

She nodded in thanks. Seeing that he was out of water, she went to the shelf and grabbed two more bottles for him.

His eyes followed her as she approached. She smiled at him sympathetically and placed one water bottle on the chair and the other in his hand.

"So, you're hurting pretty bad, huh?" she leaned against the edge of their bed, trying not to chuckle.

"My head is splitting," he groaned.

"Can I make you something to eat?" she offered. "Maybe some of the instant oatmeal?"

"Lizzie…" he started, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose. Then he paused, unsure of how to continue next. "Please stop…You don't have to do that."

"Do what?" she balked, her face suddenly closed.

"I just mean," he hastily tried to qualify. "You don't have to feel sorry for me. This isn't my first hangover…" he trailed off as though unsure of what he was saying or why. "I don't need your help!" he finally snapped.

She flashed hot. "I forgot how much you enjoy making me regret caring for you," she scowled, then pulled away from his bedside and stood up straight.

He flinched and she felt sick for a moment.

"Do we have to do this now?" his toned was pained.

"Apparently we do—you won't even let me pour you corn flakes," she rolled her eyes. "Suit yourself," she laughed bitterly.

She moved back to the table and finished with the coffee, carefully pressing the ground beans to the bottom. So much for trying to be nice—she felt furiously naive for thinking that would ever be the right approach.

She fumed as she poured herself a mug. She did not look at him and she did not offer to pour him one. She settled into the remaining chair, turning it so that her back was to him. She crossed her legs and prepared to spend the next hour or so staring at the wall in deep caffeine-fueled meditation.

After a minute, she heard Red leave the bed and approach the table. She heard him pick up the empty mug that she'd initially been kind enough to get out for him. It was like a game, sitting here, trying to figure out what he was doing behind her by sound alone. She heard liquid being poured and smelled the fresh coffee in the air. She heard him blow into the cup to cool the liquid, heard him drink…

She did not hear him approach her. He put his hand on her shoulder and she squeaked and flinched spastically in surprise.

"Thank you for making coffee, Lizzie," he rumbled behind her.

"Yeah, okay," she muttered, shaking her head. He sighed a deep, bone-weary sigh in response, his hand still gripping her shoulder.

"I know I haven't explained myself…" he started. "I understand why you're upset with me," he ground out.

She rolled her eyes at his classic deflection.

"Empathizing with me won't make me forget that you're the cause of all this drama," she snapped. "I see what you're doing…I _see_ you."

She pulled her shoulder from beneath his hand and stood to face him. His eyes were bloodshot and wary. He was unsteady on his feet and immediately reached for the back of her chair when she pulled her shoulder away. He still reeked of scotch—it was coming out of his pores.

"You're equivocating," she sneered "What you mean to say is that you owe me an explanation and an apology, but I know better than to hope," she shook her head at him in annoyance.

"Liz—," he started to say.

"Nope," she cut him off. "No. Shut it. That's enough for now. Try again when you're ready to be genuine with me."

She ducked away from him, turned away from his response, and moved to the chair she'd placed next to the bed for him. She picked it up and turned to push it back in at the table.

"In the meantime, do us both a favor and take a shower, hmm?" she braced both hands on the back of the chair and eyed him cooly. "I'm drunk just off the smell of you."

He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, staring at her, mind whirring away behind intense green eyes.

"Very well," he replied, his tone clipped. "Excuse me."

He brushed past her briskly, took up his bag of clothes, and made his way to the bathroom. He paused in the threshold of the door and looked back over at her.

"Elizabeth," he blurted, then proceeded to stare at her momentarily as he gnawed at the inside of his cheek, his expression perplexed.

"Yes?" she hesitated. There was a long pause while they simply locked gazes.

"When I'm done," he nodded to the bathroom. "Let's talk then."

She raised an eyebrow in surprise and disbelief.

"I would like that," she replied evenly.

He gave her a curt nod, then disappeared behind the door.

* * *

He emerged about forty-five minutes later, freshly showered and dressed. He seemed somewhat recovered from his hangover, though he was moving slowly.

She made the bed as soon as the bathroom door closed. Since doing that, she had not left her seat at the table. She had only been able to sit, sip her coffee, and anticipate what to say to him. The tiny French press barely held four cups—even less with their preferred ratio of grounds to water. Liz drank two big mugs, then set about making a fresh pot. Surely Red would appreciate another cup, and she needed to be on her game.

She silently watched him make his way to their bed and stow his bag away. He turned and smiled down at her, almost pityingly. Her heart froze in her chest. What was about to happen here? It had been a gamble to draw a hard line with him, she knew. She could never predict how he would respond to her anger.

Red approached the table and pulled his chair up right next to her. He sat, put his coffee cup to his mouth and drained the dregs. He poured a fresh cup from the press, offered her a polite "Thank you," and proceeded to drink. He smelled wonderful and warm. As wary as she was of him, she still had to resist the urge to reach for him, to pull him close to her.

She waited patiently, though her heart was pounding, until he lowered his mug. He set it down finally, sighing, and looked up at the the concrete wall before them.

"Elizabeth, I deeply…regret…" he ground out, working his mouth furiously in between each syllable. "You were absolutely right—I am being a terrible hypocrite, and completely unfair…I'm so very sorry for hurting you," he turned finally to look at her.

"Thank you," she murmured, moving her gaze to the wall in front of her and blinking until until her eyes stopped stinging.

"I know that's not enough," he continued, looking down at the floor and reaching for his mug. "I owe you an explanation and I reassure you one is forthcoming—along with what I'm certain will be a healthy debate and lengthy discussion," he muttered ruefully to himself, chuckling a little. "But right now…" he looked up at her, wincing and cradling the side of his head. "I'm afraid I'm a foolish old man with a massive hangover. Please, sweetheart…"

Her stupid chest tightened at the way he called her 'sweetheart,' and reflexively curled his mouth into a small smile. Her stupid brain remembered exactly what his mouth had done to her the day before, and her stupid body betrayed her with a responding flush of arousal.

"…Show me a tender mercy and grant me a small extension?" he was teasing her ever-so-slightly, but his eyes were pleading and his skin was sallow.

She nodded, agreeing for more reasons than one, "Okay." She looked over at him and offered up a small smile. "Granted."

"Oh thank you," he groaned, relaxing at once and putting his head down on the table. "I'm a wreck," he sighed. After a beat he spoke again. "I don't suppose you would still be willing to make me a small bowl of oatmeal?" he turned his head to the side and looked up at her hopefully, eyes huge and pitiful.

"You're ridiculous," she snorted. She rose gracefully and made her way around him.

"What are you doing?" he murmured behind her. She could tell from the sound that he hadn't looked up to see. His head must be _killing_ him.

"Making you some breakfast," she sighed in acceptance. "Manipulation or not," she added with a chuckle. "Besides, there's raisins and brown sugar…starch, sugar and fiber, by their powers combined, might help you feel better," she grinned as she pulled out a small pot and the hot plate.

Red managed to raise his head and watch her at she prepared their food. He nodded in unspoken approval as she added a pinch of salt to the water to boil and competently poured just the right amount of oats into the pot once it was boiling.

"You can cook _some_ things," he muttered, holding his forehead in his hand and his empty coffee mug in the other. She smirked.

"Here," Liz picked up the French press and refilled his mug. "But also…" she was quick to procure another bottled water and pass it to him.

He opened it and sipped lightly. "Thank you."

Liz focused her attention firmly on completing the preparation of their breakfast. He could be so _pleasant_ when he wasn't constantly fighting her. She was slightly ashamed of how badly she wanted to be back on good terms with him. Maybe this was his new strategy—apologize so that she would forgive him, then play the invalid until all of her anger was gone and she softened up enough to forget the mortification he'd delivered to her the night before.

She winced at the memory as she scooped the hot oats into two bowls for each of them. She hid it well and proceeded to load up her bowl with brown sugar, raisins and evaporated milk. At the last minute she remembered their new box of fruit and proceeded to snag them each an apple.

"I wish we had some cinnamon," she sighed. "But this will have to do."

"It's perfect," he beamed at her as she took her seat. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she managed to reply. Since when was he so polite to her? Something was definitely up. She ate slowly, saying nothing, waiting.

But he was eating even more slowly than she, his movements dull and heavy. His face was pale and drawn, his expression miserable. He set down his spoon for just a moment and appeared to be concentrating intently.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Not quite," he muttered, rising and striding quickly to the bathroom. "Pardon me."

He closed the door and left Liz alarmed, uncertain of what to do.

Moments later, he emerged looking somewhat relieved. Liz had listened for sounds of distress, but heard nothing. Clearly, Reddington could vomit like a ninja. She added it her mental list of his talents.

He took his seat at the table once again. She met his gaze, silently attempting to convey her sympathy. He was obviously disabled—possibly still even drunk. There was no point in being resentful or sour with him. He was too pitiful.

"I'm going to try this once more," he smiled at her. "Let's see what happens."

"Would some other food be better? We must have some crackers down here…" Liz started to rise, but Red motioned for her to sit.

"This really is perfect, Lizzie. Don't fuss. I did this to myself," he sighed ruefully before practically throwing another spoonful of oatmeal into his mouth. She watched him swallow determinedly and then take another spoonful, and another. At one point he caught her watching him and winked at her. She managed to shake her head disapprovingly, but she wanted to laugh.

She finished her own breakfast and stowed the bowl away. Red was finishing his last spoonful as she returned to the table.

"What's the verdict?" she smiled down at him.

"Jury's still out," he sighed, forlorn. She took his bowl and wiped it out. "Thank you," he muttered, leaning back in his chair. She nodded and stowed it away quickly with the other dirty dishes in the bin. When she turned around, he had moved to the edge of the bed. "Don't mind me," he grumbled. He lay down, put a hand over his eyes, and groaned. "Oh, Lizzie. I don't suppose you would perform a small act of mercy and club me unconscious?" he chuckled.

"Unfortunate dearth of clubs down here," she snickered. "I could pistol whip you…" she helpfully deadpanned.

There was contemplative silence.

"You're considering it, aren't you?" she quipped as she moved to his bedside.

"Yes," Red smirked beneath the hand over his face. She laughed softly at him.

Liz set up a makeshift nightstand for him again with water and pain relievers.

"You can probably take two more of these," she murmured. "I doubt you got the full dose."

He nodded in agreement. She shook out a couple more pills into Red's waiting palm. He swallowed them dry, then chased them down with a few sips of water. She set the pill bottle down onto the chair, and Red suddenly reached for her hand.

Her heart stopped. She couldn't look at him, afraid he would see how his touch affected her. She looked down only at the sight of her hand in his. He pulled her ever so gently to the side of the bed.

"Lizzie," he whispered. "Look at me."

She did. His expression was bewildered and anxious. He patted the edge of the mattress, and she sat, her hipbone tucked against his.

"I…" he started, then trailed off. "I don't know how I even have the gall to ask you this, but…oh dear," he sighed. "I am going to do it anyway."

"Red," she started, warningly.

"Oh feel free to tell me to go to Hell, if you like," he chirped, a ghost of his usual candor. "Because I fully recognize the hypocrisy of this request, especially given that we aren't formally reconciled…" he smoothed down the front of his clothing nervously.

"Jeez, what?" she groaned. "What is it?"

"Well, I would really like to sleep a bit more…and I was hoping you would…join me," he bit out, putting on his best poker face as he awaited her response.

"What? Why?" she was quick to ask, even as the warmth crept into her cheeks.

"Because last night was miserable. I'm completely ashamed of myself, and honestly," he paused, mouth pursed in thought, chewing on the inside of his cheeks. "I just want to hold you, Elizabeth. Just please lay here with me?"

She managed not to leap on top of him, but only just. He watched her warily as she stood, walked around the foot of the bed, and casually got in the other side. She lay down, settled herself next to him and looked over at him nonchalantly. He smiled at the ceiling, rolled to his side and wrapped his arms around her.

"This doesn't mean I forgive you," she grumbled into his shirt chest. She slung one arm over his waist and tucked the other one up against her stomach.

"Understood," he breathed into her hair at the top of her head, pulling her close.

"Still very mad," she muttered.

"Mm-Hmm," he acknowledged, adjusting their pillows and settling in.

Had these beds always been this comfy? Or was she really this relieved to be back in his arms? Either way, the idea of a little more sleep curled up with him—the way she'd wanted to be—was too good to pass up. She relented, relaxed. Red did the same. After a few moments, quietly breathing together, she heard a soft snore above her. She smiled and curled against his chest. In a few more minutes, Liz also slept.

* * *

I can haz reviews?!


	12. Chapter Twelve - Day Five, Part Two

She woke up panicked because he was _suffocating_ her. Her face was pressed to his chest, and he'd somehow rolled half on top of her in his sleep. She squirmed and pushed her way free.

"Liz…" he mumbled. "What…?"

"You're crushing me," she chuckled, turning in his embrace.

"Mmph," he made a sympathetic sound. "Sorry." He slung a lazy arm over her hip and pulled her into a spooning position. She snuggled back against him and sighed, trying to regain blissful unconsciousness.

But then he buried his face into her neck and inhaled, slowly, deeply, purposefully, until his lungs were filled with her scent. He held his breath, held her essence inside of him until he burned for air, then released her from his chest. She could feel him exhale behind her, felt his chest recede against her back. She shivered as the gust of his breath passed over the hairs at the base of her neck.

He wrapped himself around her without hesitation. Held her tightly, savoring, cherishing her closeness. She was helpless to resist his affection. She curled up in his embrace and sighed in satisfaction.

"You feel good," he rumbled sleepily.

"You too," she whispered. "How's your head?"

"Much better," he muttered.

"That's a relief," she sighed. He hummed in agreement. "Do you need anything? Some more water?" she rolled in his arms and buried her face in his chest sleepily. "You must be hungry," she murmured.

"I'm fine, Lizzie," he sighed contentedly and kissed the top of her head. "You're sweet to fuss over me, thank you."

She tucked in against him, head on his chest, one arm over his torso. He immediately wrapped his arms around her tightly. She listened to the soft thump of his heart and whoosh of each deep breath in and out of his lungs. They lay like that together, quiet and blissful, for several satisfying moments.

His fingers were making soothing circles on whatever parts of her back they could reach. She hummed in appreciation, turned her head and pressed a quick kiss to his collarbone. She caught his gaze as she pulled away. His expression was wistful.

She smiled up at him kindly, crossed her arms on his chest and rested her chin atop them. "Hey," she breathed.

"Hello," he whispered back, a slow grin spreading across his face. He reached down and cupped her cheeks with his hands. He ran the pads of his thumbs over her features, then moved one hand to smooth a few locks of her hair long dark hair from her face. "I rarely sleep soundly, but that was a glorious nap," he mumbled.

"Mmm," she hummed in agreement "Were we asleep for long?"

She felt him shift his arm against her to check his watch.

"It's about one-thirty," he replied. "Almost two hours."

She tilted her head to the side and reached up to brush her hand across his jaw and up over his brow. He turned his face to brush his lips lightly against the soft flesh of her wrist. She sighed in pleasure and pressed a kiss to his chest. He smiled down at her happily and she grinned up at him in response.

"I need you to know," he cleared his throat lightly, suddenly sober, determinedly addressing the matter at hand. "How very much I care for you."

"I know," she propped herself up a little on his chest, sensing the shift in mood and his serious tone. "I know you do…and you know that I feel the same way, right?" she watched his expression carefully.

"I do," he sighed. "Though I'm…having difficulty with that knowledge."

"Tell me why," she whispered invitingly, soothingly, snuggling against him. "Tell me why you're struggling, Red."

He watched her for a moment, his mouth working away in thought.

"You're gonna bite your inside cheeks raw," she smiled softly, brushing her thumb across the corner of his grimace. "Relax a little…You can tell me. I'm listening."

She knew right away that this wasn't going to be a typical conversation. Already his composure was cracked, his expression morphing as he sorted through his thoughts.

"I've told myself a number of lies over the years to justify my role in your life—my _interference_ in your life," he sighed. "I thought that as long as it was solely about maintaining your safety as Masha Rostova, and utilizing your profiling skills to go after my list, what I was doing was for the best. I told myself that you were just another of my associates—a talent I'd collected and would cultivate for the greater good," he frowned and looked away in shame. "Your ability to read people was useful to me, and you could potentially lead me to the Fulcrum…perhaps I'd even be doing you a favor, using my criminal status to advance your career," he paused and shook his head at his own arrogance and looked at her beseechingly. "But it was more than that…I wanted to _know_ you."

"I was aware," she muttered ironically. "On day one, Zamani told me you were obsessed with me."

"I _was_ obsessed with you. Obsessed with your safety, your well-being. We had both lost your mother," his mouth twisted in sadness. "And both survived that terrible fire…Our lives were entwined, but I imagined a connection between us that didn't really exist," he looked ashamed. "And my feelings for you, Elizabeth…they aren't exactly healthy or rational. Obsessive—it's an apt description."

He sat up a little bit so that his back was on the pillows and the headboard. He pulled her up along with him and tucked her in against his side. She allowed herself to be so—tucked, then leaned away slightly so she could read his expressions while he continued.

"Speaking of the unhealthy, I also have a terrible relationship history, as you well know," he sighed. "I could never be… _can_ never be…traditional," he was biting his cheek again as he made these admissions. "I'm domineering, arrogant. I push at people until they break, Lizzie. I've yet to meet a woman who could… _endure_ being the object of my affection. I don't want that for you," he said to the ceiling. "I feel ill when I think of repeating past mistakes with you."

"Then you've learned from those mistakes. You won't repeat them with me. You don't need to worry about that," she squeezed him. "Where you're domineering and arrogant, I'm equally as stubborn and impulsive," she chuckled darkly. "It's a perfect compliment of negative traits—You can't wear me down, you'll prevent me from being reckless, and I won't be afraid to knock you down a peg when you're on a tirade." she smiled.

He observed her for a moment, rolling the idea around in his mind. It was a wonderfully symbiotic thought. He indulged himself in a moment's fantasy of their future together, then frowned.

"But you want a husband, children, a home and a family. You can never have those things with me, Elizabeth—and I can't let you give them up," he growled, looking down at her in frustration.

"There's nothing to give up," she whispered. "Those were old dreams—naive, childish fantasies. I'm an FBI agent, currently a fugitive, and ultimately the daughter of Katarina and Constantine Rostova—I shot and killed my own father. I am the _last_ person in the world who should be having a child and living in a house with a white picket fence, pretending to be normal," she scoffed, and Red winced.

"But Lizzie," he started.

"No, It's never going to be the same for me now. Those avenues are closed to me, and I don't grieve the loss—not in the slightest," she stated calmly. "That's not what I want anymore."

There was a moment of silence, each alone with their thoughts, each considering the others' words. Eventually, Red spoke.

"When you think about the future now, what do you see?" he murmured to her, his gaze intense, expression rapt.

"In the near future?" she frowned in thought. "You, me, taking on the Cabal together, kicking ass" she sighed and he laughed outright before stifling the sound. "We'll destroy our enemies somehow, clear my name, maybe make out a little bit…" she trailed off and grinned over at him coyly.

Red's rumbling chuckle shook them both momentarily. He learned down and pressed a quick peck to her lips, and she responded warmly. They were silent and still after, observing one another.

"And what about when all this is over?" He asked her evenly, his countenance bemused despite the significance of the question. "When you return to the FBI? To the task force, assuming it's still in existence?"

"Well, more of the same, I would expect," she smiled. "I mean, we might have to keep the making-out part to ourselves," she quipped, and grinned in relief when he cracked a smile.

"Lizzie," he huffed with repressed laughter. "Please…"

"I know, I know," she regained her composure. "I know it won't be that simple. Regardless," she frowned again in thought, choosing her words carefully. "I want you there. I need you there, with me, regardless of what happens." She sat up and turned to face him, to look him in the eye. "You're not going to break me, or _taint_ me by your association."

He felt his heart nearly stop. Of course she would pinpoint his exact fear. He swallowed anxiously.

"Caring for you makes me vulnerable, and that terrifies me Elizabeth—for me and for you. I have enemies who will target you, who would hurt you to hurt me should our association become known. It goes against my every instinct to put you at risk like that."

"I'm pretty sure our association is known, Red—we're all over the news," she grinned, then held up her hands in supplication at his scowl. "I'm not discrediting your concerns. You're right—it's dangerous, but I'm not deterred."

He looked at her sadly, clearly disagreeing with her assessment.

She pulled away from him then, repositioned herself so she was cross-legged and facing him. She looked into his eyes, trying to read his expression.

"I want something better for you, I want _someone_ better for you," he went on, biting out each word as though against his will. He too sat up and leaned towards her. "I'm too old and damaged to be the man you deserve. I'm the wrong choice for you," he frowned. "I don't understand why you would want this kind of relationship for yourself, or why you would choose me," he grimaced and stared down at the comforter.

"I could say the same," she ventured, carefully. "I don't understand why you would choose me…You're Raymond 'Red' Reddington, after all," she smirked. "Mr. Concierge of Crime himself. You've certainly made it no secret that you have your pick of women, all far more suited to you than I…"

Reddington rolled his eyes at her characterization and shook his head in steadfast denial.

"Why me, Ray?" Liz smiled sweetly. "I'm the wrong choice for you too."

He stared at her, aghast.

"You're far better than I deserve," he attempted to assure her.

"No, no, that's not what I meant—it's not a matter of what you deserve," she argued. "It's about you finding a partner to whom you're best suited. By most standards, we are incompatible, but you still wanted me, you still chose me," she sighed. "You came after me, determined to insert yourself into my life at whatever the cost—you're self-admittedly _obsessed_ with me," she added teasingly, casually flicking a lock of her long dark hair over her shoulder while he shook his head in annoyance. "It seems like an awful lot of _effort_ to go to for someone who's the wrong choice for you. And for what purpose?"

"To protect you," he answered quickly. "To get you away from Tom…to keep you safe."

"By strolling into FBI Headquarters in the most dramatic self-surrender ever?" she snorted in disbelief and he managed a small chuckle. "You wanted to get to me, you wanted to _know_ me," she explained. "Right from the start, you pushed for a relationship with me. So," she continued, eyeing him critically. "You're either completely insane, a stalker, and I should run from you…" she trailed off and took a deep breath for courage. "Or you're in love with me, and for whatever reason, you can't just admit it."

She felt him immediately stiffen next to her. His expression was akin to panic. His grey green eyes bored into her blue ones, and she could see him chewing on the inside of his cheek, testing, assessing whether she was ready to hear him admit what she was sure she already knew.

"I have hesitated…" he began slowly. "To use that word with you—I didn't want to stress the somewhat tenuous relationship we have developed, especially given the already incredibly stressful circumstances, both current and impending."

"I understand. I've felt the same way," she responded kindly.

He studied her face hopefully for a few moments, then reached out, moved his hands through her hair and sighed.

"Elizabeth, every time I think about us, all I can think about are all the ways I've hurt you. For two years now, I've used you, your talent, your skills, to suit my own ends. And look at the chaos my influence has rendered!" he gestured dramatically to their surroundings and she winced at his tone. "To tell you that I love you on top of everything else—it's perverse!" he shook his head angrily, his mouth twisting bitterly. "Simply obscene."

"I understand why you feel that way…" she began in her calmest voice.

"Is that so, Counselor Keene?" he picked up on her placation immediately and leveled one eyebrow in her direction.

"And I share many of your same concerns," she continued on, flicking him a warning glance. "However, you're completely ignoring the free will and reckless abandon with which I've managed to destroy my own life, all by myself," she gestured dramatically to their surroundings in an exact imitation of him. "I made bad choices too. My mistakes? Even worse," she clucked her tongue and shook her head disparagingly, tears of shame coming to her eyes.

Red immediately moved to reassure her that her sins were slight compared to the magnitude of his own, but she immediately stopped him.

"I know you're going to say it's not so bad, that I'm not a monster, and you're the real monster…" she rehashed his same argument with a small spark of mischief in her eyes, but then she grew serious. "And then you're probably going to tell me a terrible story about a truly awful thing you did to someone, or a horrifying experience you had, to shock me and make me doubt you, and buy yourself time to…what?" she smiled sadly. "Convince yourself that you don't feel anything for me? Push me away and break both our hearts?"

He stared at her, slack-jawed at her frighteningly accurate reading of him. True, he had a code, but there were stories he could tell her…memories that, years later, still had him prowling around the house at 3 AM with a glass of scotch, too paranoid and haunted to sleep. She was exactly right. And now, it was something they had in common—what a terrible irony.

"You know," she interjected when she saw his mind working furiously behind his expression of surprise. "You reminded me earlier—when you said you were jumping into my life to help my career—I used to be really good at my job," she sighed. "I was happy and satisfied with the work that we did."

"Oh, Lizzie, no," he groaned in dismay. "That was a horrible excuse I used to justify what I was doing…"

"Yes, yes, but that doesn't mean it wasn't also true…I was, at one point, a board-certified psychologist and a fairly decent profiler," she looked over him in disbelief.

"An excellent profiler," he muttered under his breath.

"You told me, on that first day—that first, ridiculous day—that you were going to make me famous…" she continued. Red winced.

"Yes, and look how well that turned out," he snapped at her bitterly, thrusting his chin in the direction of the television.

She held up her hand and shushed him.

"What you meant, what you actually did offer, was an opportunity…and I should have handled it better. But I was too hung up on Tom, and I was too busy resenting you to really _appreciate_ …"

"No, no," Red was shaking his head vehemently. "That's not how it goes—I dragged you in, manipulated you, and I kept things from you."

"But I had a choice! I had a chance to walk away, but I chose to keep going with you! Wasn't that what you wanted?" she was baffled.

"It _was_ , but it wasn't what was best for you!" He groaned in miserable frustration. "How can you trust me? How can you just forgive me for that? I've ruined your life, sweetheart! Why on Earth would you want to be with me, Elizabeth? I cannot fathom it!"

He was staring at her with an intensity that was almost frightening, his eyes searching every inch of her face for an answer, for some sort of meaning. She swallowed lightly and leaned in until her face was only an inch or two from his own.

"It shouldn't surprise you," she whispered. "Nor do you have any reason to doubt me when I say that I love you—Raymond, I do love you."

His face was stunned, disbelieving. He looked down at her in pure wonder, his expression seeking confirmation.

"Because, I _love_ you." she whispered again, heart aching and eyes pleading. "I want to be with you because I _love_ you," she cried, cupping his face with both of her hands, her eyes filling with tears.

"Oh," he rasped, his throat tight, his eyes huge. "You can't—," he tried.

"I do. I have for a long time. I _dream_ about you," she moaned, pressing her face to his cheek, his neck, his chest, seeking reassurances that she hadn't just made the biggest mistake by saying those words first and saying them now.

"Oh Lizzie, oh," he murmured, "Just…" he began, but he couldn't find the strength to protest. "Please," he went up on his knees and came towards her, reaching for her, eyes beseeching. "Please, just come here."

She leaned forward and Red pulled her against him fiercely. Immediately he wrapped himself around her and squeezed hard, cocooning her in his love and offering her solace.

"Oh, sweetheart!" he clutched at her, clasping and grasping her tightly, pulling her close to kiss her in desperate need, then pull himself away to confirm that it was still her and this was not one of _his_ dreams. "You glorious woman!" he hissed each of his sweet words in between sweet kisses to her collarbone that made her tremble. "You're determined to do this!" he was laughing in sheer delight, unable to trust his ears. "You're absolutely determined to have me?"

"Yes," she did not hesitate, despite being distracted by his lips on hers once again. "Absolutely yes."

"Huh," he pulled away and clucked his tongue at her in astonishment. He stared at her again. His smile kept breaking apart into an expression of wonder and disbelief before bursting into a grin once more. "Huh," he huffed again, before drawing her in for another kiss.

Liz kissed him back, hard, throwing every ounce of passion and wild excitement racing through her into the press of her mouth on his and her hands over his willing body. He grunted and groaned happily against her, greedily leaning into her embrace and accepting everything she had to offer.

Intermittently, he would pause, hold her face in his hands and simply look at her, stunned, amazed to see her there, looking at him with love in her eyes, kissing him with loving lips…it was almost too much.

"Don't cry," she whispered sweetly when he pulled away from her again, tears in his eyes.

"I don't think you know," he chuckled, blinking furiously and wiping his cheeks. "How long I have waited, how much I have wanted to hear you say that you love me," he sighed blissfully. He hugged her against him for a moment, and she lay her head on his chest before squeezing him back. She stole a quick glance up at his face—his eyes were closed but his expression radiated joy. He was savoring this moment.

"I love you," she grinned. Slowly, ever so gently, she rose up and lay herself gracefully down over him, wrapping herself around him. "I should have said it much sooner." With one hand on the pillow next to his head, she lowered her mouth to his and pressed the tenderest of kisses to his lips. He responded sweetly, so ecstatically, she felt tears come to her eyes as well. "See," she chuckled ruefully, straddling his stomach lightly to sit up and wipe her face. "Now you've got me started."

He sat up under her, rose up to meet her, wrapped arms around her waist and buried his face in her chest. He clutched her against him and she slid her arms around his shoulders and the back of his head, cuddling him against her.

"Elizabeth, I cannot begin to tell you how much I love you, how much I need you," he growled, green eyes burning up at her, communicating with her soul.

She blinked back her tears of joy and relief and grinned down at him. "Really? Do you know how long _I've_ wanted to hear that? To know for certain that you really care?" She was overwhelmed suddenly. She covered her face with her hands, leaned forward until her forehead rested on his shoulder and heaved a few dry sobs. He hugged her against him, tilted his head to whisper in her ear.

"I shouldn't have held back, but I was afraid," he kissed her cheek in apology. "You are everything to me, Elizabeth, my North Star. You feel like _home_ ," his hands were in her hair, then clasping her shoulders as he pressed holy, reverent kisses across her collarbone. "I can't breathe until I see you—until I know when I'll see you again. I'm completely yours. I belong to you. I'm imprinted and bound to you in the most unbreakable way," he sighed and shuddered against her suddenly. "Whether you keep me close or kick me away like a dog—this hideous fish is yours to command."

She kissed the top of his head and sighed.

"You're not a hideous fish," she grumbled, annoyed slightly at his pessimism and saddened at the idea of 'kicking' him away. "You're a nice fish, a very handsome fish—I'm proud to have hooked you," she smirked into the peach fuzz on the top of his head and pressed a few sweet kisses there.

"Lizzie," he snorted, looking up at her in amusement. "Be serious."

"I am," she countered nonchalantly, not being serious at all. "You're a prize-winning fish! Good size, flashy scales," she fingered the fabric of his button-down, her face stern, appraising, while her blue eyes danced merrily in amusement. "And check out the fins on you—you trophy fish, you!" she rans her hands down his arms and let out an admiring whistle while Red shook with laughter beneath her. "Definitely worth mounting," she chuckled at her own double entendre and looked down at him suggestively.

His eyes met hers heatedly.

"You think so, hmm?" he appeared to be considering her words carefully.

"Oh yes," she smiled down at him warmly. "But where to display you?" she feigned distress. "I mean, I'd want to have you in every room…"

He laughed loudly at the last one and flipped her down onto the bed. Carefully, slowly, he followed her down and settled his weight on top of her. She welcomed him, wrapped her arms around him, hugged him to her and sighed blissfully.

"For the record," his voice was warm and rough and right next to her ear. "I still think this is a very bad idea, destined to lead to a completely dysfunctional relationship that will probably destroy both of us, forever."

"Probably," she chuckled beneath him and pressed a kiss to his jawline, lightly brushing her lips across his afternoon stubble. He shuddered against her.

"We can still turn back," he muttered as she left a trail of kisses down the side of his neck. "Go forth as friends—catch a lot more bad guys."

"Nope, it's too late," she pulled away and smirked up at him. "We've said 'I love you' and cried about it in front of each other—There's no turning back from that," she added drily.

"Lizzie!" He huffed into her neck, laughing.

"And as far as the dysfunctional relationship…let's just see how it goes, one day at a time and all that," she smiled up at him brilliantly. "We might actually be good together—perhaps our dysfunctions are complimentary."

Red chuckled and rolled his eyes. "That's ridiculous."

"Regardless," she grinned, then softened and brushed her cheek against his. "I love you so much."

"Elizabeth," he gasped, looking down at her in sudden awareness. He tilted his head to the side and fixed her with a gaze so intense she thought she would shrivel under the weight of his inspection. "Say that again, sweetheart. Please."

His tone was almost courteous, but his expression was pleading. The hideous fish was desperate for a ray of sunshine, and in this moment, he would finally recognize it.

Her face burst into the sweetest smile he'd ever seen. Her pure joy radiated up at him, and he felt his heart swell.

"I love you," she whispered fiercely. "It's such an amazing relief to say it—Raymond, I love you with everything I have. I love you so completely, so fully…it's terrifying," she giggled hysterically. "I'm consumed. I mean…is this really happening? Are you really here with me?"

"Yes, Lizzie," he had tears in his eyes again. "Yes, sweetheart. I love you too. I belong to you. Only you."

She threw her arms around him and pressed soft kisses to his cheeks, chin and neck. She curled herself around him like a cat seeking warmth, and he entwined himself with her completely in response. She was squeezing him tightly, ensuring that he was pressed as close to her as he could be, her face buried in his chest. She tilted her head back and looked directly up into his eyes. She laughed, held him, kissed him and laughed again.

She lifted herself off his chest and he instantly scooted back so that his back was against the pillows and the headboard. She followed him up. His hands were immediately on her hips, grabbing her, maneuvering her into place so that she was straddling him. She hissed and moaned in pleasure, crying out and rocking against him, painfully wet and swollen for him in record time. He devoured her mouth, swallowed each sweet sound, ground his swollen cock into the juncture of her thighs, made her hum and gasp in lust against his ear, and when she attempted to pull his shirt over his head, he fisted his hand in her hair and pulled her mouth away from his so he could refasten his lips to her neck.

"Oh Lizzie, I love you," he groaned, rocking against her. "Sweetheart, I want you so much."

"I love you too," she sighed. "I want you too…please don't stop!"

"I don't know if…I might not be able to do this slowly, now," he growled warningly in her ear.

"So we'll do it fast and hard now, then slow and gentle after dinner," she teased, finally managing to pull his shirt over her his awestruck face. She pressed a kiss and then her cheek to the hair on his bare chest, then looked up at him. "Do you even know how wet I am for you?"

"Oh, honey, please tell me," he rasped in her ear. "How long have you been ready for me?"

" _Days_ now," she sighed. "I ache inside. I need you, Red. I need you to…"

But she didn't have a chance to finish before he flipped their positions and rolled on top of her.

"Like this?" he groaned. "You want me like this?"

"God, yes," she hissed, wrapping her legs around him, thrilled by his enthusiasm. "Take off your pants—I need to feel you."

He pulled himself away from her, yanked off his jeans and came back to her in just his boxers. She could see his erection tenting the fabric. She rose up and reached out to take him in her hand, but he caught her hand in his own and pressed it to his mouth.

"Are you absolutely certain?" he shuddered. She cupped his jawline with the hand he'd just kissed. Then she unceremoniously pulled her shirt and bra over her head and tossed them onto the floor. She turned back to him, gloriously bare-chested, her nipples tautening in the open air, and he gulped, suddenly weak at the sight.

"We're not stopping," she moaned as he reached for her breasts, cupping them in his hands, kneading her soft milk flesh and suckling the coral tips. "I can't stop, Red."

"Oh—oh dear," he paused, chuckled into her chest. "This really happening?" Green eyes on blue.

"Yes," she stated without hesitation. When he didn't immediately respond, she added a small "Please?" in supplication.

He huffed a small laugh of disbelief and stared at her incredulously.

"Please?" he teased her, rising up over her, burning her with the heat of his gaze. He reached for her, pulled her close and laid her back down on the bed. "Did you actually just ask me to _please_ make love to you, Elizabeth?"

He settled his full weight atop her, his gravel voice against her ear, his erection pressed just above the juncture of her thighs. She groaned and undulated beneath him, pressing herself against him.

"If I say yes, will you actually do it?" she pleaded. "Because, yes."

He laughed hard above her, then leaned in to claim her mouth.

"Yes?"

"Yes."

He reared up off of her, sat back on his knees, and looked down at her, splayed below him. He reached out and trailed a hand lovingly down her silky stomach. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her pants and panties. She raised her hips to help him as he tugged them down over her legs and off. He tossed them to the floor and took in the sight of her spread before him.

"You are just…" he trailed off, shook his head and met her gaze heatedly. She grinned up at him, aware of her effect on him.

"Just…?" she trailed off, inviting him to finish. She rose up and pressed a tender kiss to his lips.

"Perfect," he murmured. "So beautiful. You are so beautiful, Elizabeth," he whispered.

She blushed her thanks and wrapped her arms around him, thrilled at the press of her smooth, naked chest against his hairy one.

"Oh, you feel so good," she groaned in earnest, then chuckled and wriggled herself against him. His erection twitched against her thigh. She sighed and slipped her fingers into the waistband of his boxers.

"Take these off and let me see you," she crooned. "I want to touch you, taste you."

Red made an urgent, pleading sound in the back of his throat. He kissed her again, pulled her flush against him through the fabric of his silk boxers and ground himself into her.

"I have a couple condoms in my wallet," he muttered in her ear.

She paused at his mention of birth control.

"I have an IUD," she whispered back to him. He leaned back to observe her expression in surprise. "I thought it would be a smart move when Tom and I decided we wanted to adopt…but I don't know if he's been with anyone else since…I mean," she was suddenly ashamed.

"Lizzie, it's okay," he reached for her, pulled her close again. "It's highly unlikely Tom even had a chance to cheat on you while he was away, and he certainly wasn't with anyone else once he returned…not even that delightful Gina Zanetakos," he smirked.

"Stop…this isn't funny," she muttered to his shoulder.

"You're right," he growled into her ear. "I'm sorry."

He pressed his mouth to hers roughly, fisting his hands in her hair while she rubbed up against him, trapping his erection between them. He was still wearing those wretched boxers, she noted.

"I'll have you know," he breathed, reaching around to cup her ass in his warm hands. "I'm at peak sexual health…you have nothing to worry about." He squeezed her cheeks and used his grip on her butt to grind her softness against his hardness. "There hasn't been anyone else for me…not for awhile, now."

"Oh, Red," she groaned, half in pleasure over his admission and half in realization that they wouldn't need the condoms, as he ran his hands over her skin.

He had just enough time to chuckle at her delight before she flipped him down onto the mattress and straddled him before he could blink.

"Lizzie," he chuckled, tucking his hands behind his head and smiling up at her naked figure adoringly. "What has gotten into you?"

"I'll tell you what hasn't gotten into me," she muttered, and Red felt his cock twitch against her. With surprising agility, breasts bouncing and dark hair swirling around her shoulders, she grabbed the hem of his boxers and pulled them down over his hips, carefully freeing his erection first. He lifted his hips to assist her as she tugged them down and off.

She threw his underwear to the floor some force and turned back to him, her expression triumphant. He laughed and attempted to reach for her, but she pushed him back before he could get over his center of gravity. He looked up at her in surprise as his head hit the pillow. Her expression was focused, acquisitive.

"Let me look at you," she murmured, hovering over him. He gazed up at her in wonder, eyes fogged with lust. She leaned back to observe him, and he struck a casual pose in anticipation of her assessment, ankles crossed, hands behind his head, his erection prominently on display. She reached for him immediately, fascinated, slid her fingertips teasingly over his length before closing her hand around him.

"Lizzie," he grunted, half in pleasure, half in warning. She locked eyes with him, smiled knowingly, watched him with keen interest as she pumped him lightly, once, twice, and again—and he could only shudder and moan in response, helpless to stop her. What was she doing to him? He was twelve again, and ready to cum at the touch of a breeze—and it was her! Lizzie! _His_ _Lizzie_ , here with him, gloriously naked before him, hand on his hardcock…oh, how he had wanted this!

The sudden brush of her mouth against his shaft startled him back to the present.

"Stop!" he yelped, grabbing her arm and pulling her back up his chest.

She blinked at him in surprise, then laughed at his wild expression.

"Yes?" she purred. "Something wrong?"

"Keep doing that, and there will be," he muttered, focusing on her mouth.

"After what you did to me yesterday? I'd like to…"

"Later," he groaned. "Later, not now, please."

He pulled her against him, groaning at the sweet friction of their bare skin together, rubbing up against her reflexively. She moaned and wrapped herself around him, pressing herself against him hungrily.

"Later?" she had enough of her mind left to tease him.

"Yes. Later. Now, come here," he growled in manner that was not polite at all.

Liz swooped in and kissed him hard, negotiated the separation of his lips, and slid the tip of her tongue against his playfully. He groaned into her mouth and grabbed the back of her head, kissing her hard and deep in return, chasing her flirtatious tongue.

She ran busy hands over every inch of his skin, savoring, memorizing his scent and texture, trailing light fingers over the scars on his back while he shuddered and pressed against her. Eventually she reached again for his hardness, rubbing her thumb over the head, swirling the pearl of precum she found there. He fisted his hand in the hair at the back of her head and rolled her beneath him, separating his mouth from hers with a greedy smack.

"Yes," she groaned unabashedly, then giggled at herself under his amused gaze. "You just feel so good."

"You too," he grunted, sliding his hand between her legs, finding her beyond slick and ready for him. "Oh, Lizzie…Sweetheart…"

"Please, I need…"

"Yes…"

She spread herself beneath him, opened her hips, tilted up to receive him as he settled his delicious weight upon her—but he was still teasing her, dragging his swollen cock through her sodden folds, thrusting against her clit again and again, refusing to align himself and penetrate her at last. She emitted a small cry of frustration and he had the nerve to chuckle at her. She glared up at him and he smiled down at her, beatifically.

"I love you," he whispered, watching her, his expression amused.

"I love you too," she huffed, only slightly chagrinned.

He grinned at her and slid his the tip of his cock around and over her clit once more. She writhed beneath him and growled in frustration.

"I take it back! You're killing me!" she hissed.

"Mmhmm," he groaned in agreement as he moved against her once more. She shuddered and made a small sound of pleasure. He twitched and sought her mouth with his own, grinding himself against her again and again, swallowing each sweet, needy little sound from her throat until she was writhing and crying incoherently beneath him. He kissed her again and shifted his hips until the tip of his length was positioned at her opening.

"You're sure?" he muttered, watching her carefully, checking one last time.

"God, yes!" she hissed.

He bore down, slid into her slowly, inch by inch, while she squirmed and mewled beneath him, clutching at his forearms. She was so wet, so completely aroused, but he was thick, stretching her almost painfully. She winced and he instantly paused.

"Am I hurting you?" he whispered.

"In the best possible way," she groaned earnestly. He chuckled into her neck and kissed her.

"I'm sorry," he rumbled in her ear, withdrawing himself from her slightly.

"You know, you don't _actually_ have to ruin me for all other men, right?" she laughed softly and ran her hands down through the salt and pepper hair on his chest. He snorted lightly at her quip and buried his face into her neck, inhaling deeply.

"It's not my fault—you're so impossibly tight!" he hissed in frustrated delight against her collarbone.

"Mmm…don't stop," she breathed into the peach fuzz at the top of his head. She pushed her pelvis against his to emphasize her point. He immediately pushed into her again, trying to gentle himself as best he could, and this time, she felt only the sweetly pleasurable burn of her inner walls stretching to accommodate him. "Oh, yes…Raymond," she moaned. " _Again_ …"

He thrust into her once more, bottoming out and groaning helplessly as he did so. She felt too damn good. Every slick, silky inch of her was clenching, rippling around him—it was almost impossible for him to be a gentleman. She was practically twitching under him, already close and desperate for the friction. He thrust into her almost experimentally, and her response was immediate—arching against him and crying out in pleasure.

"Yes," she laughed wickedly, staring up at him boldly as he slid into her again, and again, hard, slow thrusts meant to claim her, penetrate her as deeply as he could. "Oooh, Red, yes!" she cried in time with his rhythm.

He slowed and looked down at her in surprise.

"Don't you dare stop!" she glared up at him.

"No! I mean, I won't…" Red sputtered, then appeared to snap out of it. "I was just appreciating your enthusiasm," he clucked his tongue suggestively against his teeth and looked down at her adoringly.

"Appreciate it harder, will you?" she laughed up at him. "And maybe a little faster too…" she kissed him, nuzzled his neck, breathed him in and imprinted on his scent.

He kissed her hungrily in response, sweeping his tongue against hers as he moved to comply. He began to move in earnest, setting up a steady rhythm, embarrassingly almost ready to cum.

Then again, so was she. He could feel her clench and move with him, so easily, so erotically…dear god, if he could just hold on.

"Lizzie, please," he groaned, not stopping, not able to stop. "Tell me what I can do…for you…"

Sensing the warning in his tone, she slid her hand between their bodies and pressed her fingers to her clitoris. Her eyes flicked up and met his wickedly.

"Just keep going, Red," she groaned, and he felt himself twitch inside her. "I'm so close…you feel so _good_ …" she pulled his face to hers to nuzzle and kiss.

He repositioned himself to make room for her busy hand, then slammed into her, filling her again and again, desperately trying to keep up some sort of consistent rhythm while his balls were tightening.

"Lizzie," he growled in warning.

"It's okay—let go," she told him. "I'd love to feel you cum inside me. Fill me up with it," she rasped, then chuckled throatily as he groaned and faltered in his pace at her filthy suggestion. "You okay there?" she paused and cupped the back of his head with her free hand.

"I love you," his eyes burned down into her own as he thrust against her once more. He leaned down and kissed her fiercely, searing her mouth with his own and making her moan into him. "Sweetheart, I love you so much," he whispered the words against her lips as though they pained him.

"Me too—I love you, too," she gasped, when he finally pulled away. She gazed up at him, adoringly. He rocked his length inside her and she felt her inner muscles spasm and clench him, hovering on the edge of orgasm. His breath hitched and she reared up, caught his bottom lip between her teeth and worried it gently before kissing him hungrily.

"Red, please," she begged. "I can't take the teasing! Please, just—…" she trembled against him and he quickly complied, thrusting hard into her tight, slick channel.

"Like this?" he growled, pounding away at her, letting her feel the full length of him over and over, as many times as he could manage before he lost it. "Is this what you want? Tell me…" he grunted, thrusting away.

"Yes," she cried, twitching in pleasure, moving with him eagerly, taking his thick cock as hard as he could give it to her, arching her hips to meet him. "Yes! Mmmph, Red…"

Her voice in his ear did him in. Groaning and sighing "Yes! Oh, Lizzie, yes!" he emptied himself into her in hard, hot streams that made her shudder and thrash against him, pushing her over into the throes of her own orgasm.

"You—ohhhh…it's so _warm_!" she moaned and rocked against him. Her tight walls gripped, clenched him, milking him mercilessly as she twitched helplessly in time to his pulses within her. "Oh, so good!" she muttered into his shoulder while he could only groan and press his mouth against her skin. "Mmmph, _Raymond_ …" she hummed in satisfaction, savoring every last spasm and twitch.

She welcomed his weight atop her when he was finally spent, their bodies slick against one another's, their heavy breathing harsh music to each other's ears. She wrapped her arms around him, nuzzling, planting small kisses to the side of his face and neck. He responded immediately, hugging her against him, kissing her breathlessly until he calmed, and then more slowly, sweetly, his expression astonished.

She smiled up at him dreamily, lost in his tender display. With her arms around him, she could feel his scars on his back beneath her hands. She traced the ridge of one almost absent-mindedly, thinking back to the days before she'd known about his scars.

She must have hit painfully sensitive tissue because he winced suddenly.

"Did that hurt?" she whispered.

He kissed her calmly. "There are a few places that still…twinge," he sighed above her.

"I'm sorry," she sighed. "Here?" she placed her hand tentatively over his left shoulder blade where her fingers had been.

"Especially there," he murmured.

"Got it," she kissed his cheek in apology and wrapped her arms around his torso instead. He settled in against her as they both cooled and calmed. She hugged him against her intermittently, unable to hold back her pleasure in having him in her arms at last, barely even able to believe it.

She had been so foolish, pushing him away. Never again. She shuddered to think of how many times it had almost ended, how many ways they'd hurt each other in the process of reaching this moment. It was a miracle, really, that they were even here. She blinked back tears and buried her nose in his bare shoulder. How wonderful. How terrifying.

"Oh, Lizzie," Red realized she was crying, his expression horrified. "What is it?" He moved immediately to roll off her, despite her teary protests and reaching for him.

"Nothing too bad," she laughed to reassure him through her tears. "I'm just really happy," she laughed again at the irony. "Come back here," she tugged at his arm.

He pulled her back to his chest, still deliciously naked, but starting to feel the coolness of the cellar. Still clutching her with one arm, he reached behind him with the other and pulled a blanket over them both.

"You're happy?" his expression was quizzical as he settled her against him

She entwined her limbs skillfully with his until they were both comfortable and she could see his face. "Yes," she grinned. "Aren't you?"

"Ecstatic," he rumbled tenderly. He reached out and cupped her face, running the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone and starring at her in amazement. "Did that really just happen?" he grinned in disbelief

"Yes," she chuckled. "You and me. Just now."

"The sounds you made, Lizzie—the things you _said_ to me…" he closed his eyes blissfully, savoring the memories, while she blushed furiously. "Those gloriously filthy words!" he cooed, feigning scandal while she shook her head at him. "The face of an angel and the mouth of a sailor…sweetheart, you never cease to surprise and delight me," he chuckled at her embarrassment, then pinned her beneath him for a lingering kiss.

"Good, because you're stuck with me now," she deadpanned, reaching up to cup his face affectionately when he pulled away. "Forever…" she added ominously, a small smirk gracing her lips.

"Promise?" he brightened hopefully and grinned when she laughed. "Nothing would make me happier."

"Really?" she whispered, gazing up at him through her eyelashes.

"Really," he confirmed hoarsely.

"Good. Love you, Raymond," she murmured, then dipped in to brush her mouth against his sweetly. "So much," she groaned when she pulled away.

"I love you too, Lizzie," he crushed her against him, again. "More than you could possibly know," he kissed the top of her head. "Everything I am, everything I have, is yours, for as long as you'll have me," he whispered into her hair. She hummed affectionately in agreement and tilted her face upwards for another kiss.

They held each other tightly for the next few minutes, neither wanting to be the first to release the other, but eventually, certain needs began to make themselves apparent.

"Mmm…speaking of _having you_ ," Liz chuckled. "l really need to freshen up…"

"Curse that tiny, wretched little shower stall," Red chuckled. "Or else I'd join you," he looked over at her and smiled. "I guess I'll wait my turn this time."

"Thanks…I'll be quick," she leaned up and pressed a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. before sliding out from under their blanket and standing gingerly, noting the shift of fluid and the delicious soreness between her legs. She stole a quick glance as him over her shoulder. He was watching her, unabashedly staring at her nude form. "How big is your shower in Dubai?" she teased, snatching up her bag and strolling confidently to the bathroom, being sure to put a little extra sway into her step for his benefit.

"Big enough," he grunted.

"For the both of us?" she turned and grinned at him once she'd reached the bathroom door.

"Indeed," his eyes were following the line of her back and the curve of her ass. When he realized she was watching him, his eyes flew up to her face, slightly chagrinned.

"I'll be right out," she smirked.

"Looking forward to it," he drawled suggestively. His eyes followed her into the bathroom until she closed the door between them.

* * *

Reviews sustain my soul.


	13. Chapter Thirteen - Day Five, Part Three

When she emerged, freshly showered and dressed, he was fully clothed and making the bed. She paused for a moment and took in the sight of him tidying.

"Hey," she grinned, approaching him and throwing her bag under the bed.

"Hey," he pulled her into his arms and breathed her in. She wrapped herself around him and squeezed tight. He seemed to take this as a challenge and crushed her in his embrace, literally squeezing some of the air from her lungs until she relented, and his arms relaxed.

"What's the damage?" she smirked, tilting her head in the direction of their bed.

"Negligible," he seemed pleased.

"Thanks for putting it back together," she grinned.

"Of course," he hummed next to her ear.

"I left you plenty of hot water," she smiled into his chest. "But I'm strangely unable to let go of you."

"I seem to be experiencing a similar phenomenon," he deadpanned into the top of her head. "Coupled with a general reluctance to wash you off of me."

"Will it help if I promise to rub off on you again later?" she whispered into his ear. Red made a strangled sound deep in his throat and Liz chuckled, hugging him against her. He held her tightly in response, swaying back and forth in place. She moved with him, almost as though they were dancing.

"I take it you have no regrets, sweetheart?" he murmured above her.

"None. You?" she whispered.

"Only that this happened down here," he grumbled jokingly.

"I think we had to be locked in a room together for it to happen at all," she laughed, tilting her head back to gaze up at him adoringly. He smirked ruefully in agreement and cupped her jaw with both of his hands, pulling her mouth to his for a kiss. "Needed you all to myself," she hummed when he pulled away.

"You have me," he chuckled. "I'm all yours."

"Even when we leave here?" she looked up at him for confirmation.

"Yes," he grinned.

"Your various floozies are going to be so disappointed…" she teased, squeezing him while he rolled his eyes at her.

"They'll get over it, I'm sure," he commented dryly. "You have nothing to worry about."

"Poor girls," she sighed, cuddling him close, relief flooding through her, filling the space where her unrequited feelings used to be. "They'll never have another chance at you."

"I'm delighted to hear it," he snickered.

She kissed him again, and then again-long, lingering, sweet kisses that drove him crazy, made his cock twitch with possibility. When Liz pulled away from him to breathe, he glanced down at his watch and frowned.

"What?" she asked, bushing her lips against his jawline.

"Eli will be here in a few minutes…I should go clean up before he knocks," Red looked down at her fondly. "I'll be out in a flash."

"I wouldn't mind being flashed," Liz responded thoughtfully, a wry smile turning up the corner of her mouth. Red laughed outright in response and kissed her lightly.

"I'll remember that for later," he chuckled, then grabbed his bag of clothing and practically skipped into the bathroom.

In his absence, she circled their tiny space dreamily, trailing her fingers across the surface of the table. She decided to open a bottle of wine, wondering if he would also have a glass.

As she was pouring, it occurred to her to turn on the television and check the news. She crouched in front of the tiny set, glass of Bordeaux in hand, manually switching between the three whole stations that came in, scanning for headlines, listening carefully. At this point in the day there were only previews for the evening's broadcasts—and they clearly had nothing new to report as to the ongoing manhunt. She relaxed a little bit, feeling relieved. Red would likely be getting an update tonight from his team tonight. She hoped it would be good news.

She gathered their soiled laundry and dirty dishes for Eli, stacking things neatly on the little table and returned to her spot in front of the TV.

The bathroom door opened and Red emerged, pink and scrubbed clean. He was clad in his jeans and a soft charcoal t-shirt.

"You look _good_ ," she purred, rising slowly to her feet. His eyes remained fixed on her as he chucked his bag under their bed. He approached her and reached for her immediately, wrapping his arms around her in exactly the same position they'd been in before his shower. His lips found hers, warm and slow, cherishing their newfound intimacy.

"You _feel_ good," he rumbled.

"You _smell_ good," she giggled.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear before pressing his mouth to her neck. "I _love_ you, Elizabeth," he hissed.

"Oh Raymond, I love you too," she sighed blissfully, squeezing him, kissing his cheek, his jaw, his neck. He was so warm, so responsive to her every touch, simply hugging him aroused her. "It's amazing how much I want you, right now," she muttered.

"Control yourself, woman!" he chuckled in pleasure and surprise.

"I can't!" she groaned, pressing her mouth to his neck.

"But you must!" he sighed dramatically and clutched her against him in an exaggerated fashion, making her laugh again. "Or else our dear friend Eli will be subject to an awkward encounter—I should hate to answer the door sporting an erection," he chuckled.

As if on cue, Eli's customary knock came from above. Liz leapt away from Red, panicked, then froze in embarrassment at her overreaction.

He quietly observed the space where she'd once stood, then glanced over the space she now occupied in noted amusement. She scowled at him. He smirked at her.

"Thank you for assembling this," he chirped breezily as he scooped the bundle of laundry and dishes to exchange from the table and made his way up the stairs.

She followed him, shaking her head. The false sink was lifted away and Eli greeted them both with a smile. Red made the exchange of laundry and dishes for fresh items, which he then passed to Liz before accepting their dinner trays.

"What's on the menu tonight?" she called up the stairs as she put their clean things away.

"Beef stew," came Red's reply.

"Thank you," Liz appeared at the bottom of the stairs to help Red with the dinner trays loaded with stew, rolls and salads. She waved up to Eli, who smiled and waved down to her.

"You doing okay in there?" he asked.

"Yep," she grinned.

"Alright then. Have a good night," Eli nodded to them both and closed the secret entrance. Liz heard him close the door to the closet above, and they were alone again.

"I don't know about you, but I'm quite famished," Red chirped, pulling out a chair at the table for Liz. She sat and arranged her tray.

"Me too," she held up her wine glass. "I opened a bottle—I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all," he smiled, taking his place on the other side of the table and assessing his tray. "Will you pour me a glass?"

"Of course," she beamed. "I didn't know if you would want one after…"

"Ugh, don't remind me," he groaned then laughed. "My goodness, was that only just this morning?"

"Yes," she confirmed, nodding.

"Amazing," he clucked his tongue behind his teeth. "A lifetime ago," he smiled brilliantly at her. "So much has happened since then!"

She laughed at him, barely holding back a swoon over his adorable expression and scowled at herself in the process.

"What?" he snickered over at her as she rose to pour him a glass of the wine.

"Nothing—just disgusted at how smitten I am with you," she muttered.

"As am I," he sighed. He looked at her with hooded lids, and she felt sudden heat rush to her core.

"Finish your stew," she commanded, flicking her gaze at him meaningfully. He caught her suggestive glance and laughed.

"You first," he raised a devious eyebrow in her direction.

"Very well," she responded primly, conscious all-the-while of the heat of his gaze and the corresponding heat between her thighs.

He took up another spoonful of his stew, and then another, making a civilized show of eating. "We are fugitives, after all—we'll need to keep up our strength," he winked at her.

She shook her head at him, but followed his example, stealing quick glances at him in between swallows, occasionally catching him doing the same. After a few moments of concerted effort in silence, she spoke. "This really is good."

"It is," he agreed, smiling up at her happily.

"How many more of Eli's meals do you think we'll get to enjoy?" she queried, munching away thoughtfully at a forkful of salad, having finished her entrée.

"I should be receiving a text sometime tonight regarding the schedule for our extraction," he murmured, taking a moment to check the time. Liz angled her head to glance at his watch, then raised her eyes to meet his with a small smile. "But to answer your question, I expect we'll have at least two more."

Liz nodded approvingly. Two more nights of just the two of them—not counting the rest of tonight. Delightful anticipation blossomed through her, and she grinned at her tray.

"You just want Eli to make more bacon cheeseburgers, don't you?" he smirked.

"Am I that transparent?" she playfully retorted. He laughed, throwing his whole head back.

She watched him mop up the last of his stew onto what was left of his roll a pop it into his mouth. He sipped his wine, wiped his mouth daintily, and looked up at her in satisfaction. She took in the sight of him, smiling at her from across the table, and felt her heart melt.

"What is it?" he set his glass down, concerned.

"Your face," she sighed and chuckled helplessly. "Is just so very dear to me…"

"Go on," Red propped his chin up on his hand in exaggerated interest, making her smile.

"I can't help but stare at you," she gazed at him and smiled slowly, warmly. "Let me touch you."

"Lizzie," he scoffed, then laughed delightedly. "You're relentless!"

He was out of his seat in an instant, coming straight for her, but she was small and fast, and determined to have her way with him. She leapt into his arms for a hurried, frantic kiss, then herdedhim to the side of the bed.

"Come here with me," she crooned, sitting on the edge of the mattress, pulling him down with her. "Lay down."

"Of course, sweetheart," he chirped happily, settling on his back and wrapping his arms around her as she settled atop him. "I'm at your command!"

She straddled his lower stomach and buried her face in his neck to breathe him in—assertive, dominant. He moaned and quivered reflexively beneath her in anticipation.

"You like this?" she giggled softly against his collarbone and pushed herself up so she could see his expression.

"Oh yes," he sighed, gazing at her. "You can't imagine, love."

She hummed in delight and captured his lips with her own. She ran her hands down his chest hard, pausing to pinch and tease his nipples through the fabric of his shirt, making him moan into her mouth. She kissed him harder, devouring him, grinding against him shamelessly, endlessly encouraged by his sounds of pleasure and the way he moved against her.

His hands fisted themselves in her hair as he bucked his hips into her. She groaned and pressed her hot center against his length.

"Clothes off," she managed to grunt into his ear before climbing off him and pulling him up. She stripped him quickly of his shirt and once it was off and away on the floor, she pushed him back down into the pillows, and set to work removing his pants.

He laughed wildly as she pulled his jeans and boxers down over his hips and legs, leaving him completely naked and her still completely clothed.

"I can't help but notice," he drawled as she tossed his remaining clothes over the side of the bed, laughing as she did so, knowing where he was going with this. "You're still wearing…"

"Correct," she smirked, interrupting as she turned back to him and straddled his knees. wickedly. "Because it's _your_ turn."

Then she leaned down and put her mouth on him.

"Lizzie!" he crowed. "Merciful god!"

He hardened completely as she sucked and licked and lathed him sensuously with her tongue. He was delicious to her, and the way he twitched and moaned and squirmed in response to what she was doing to him made her hot and soaking wet. She took as much of him into her throat as she could manage, and he growled with pleasure at her in a way that made her toes curl.

She flicked her eyes up at him, found him staring down at her in worship and lust. Ever-so-slowly, suckling him as hard as she thought he'd enjoy, she moved back up his shaft, allowing him to slide out of her mouth, long and slow. She flicked her tongue over the tip of his cock, making him twitch, before releasing him with a light _pop_.

He groaned and hissed her name again. She grinned up at him, locking her gaze on his.

"You're driving me insane," Red grunted down at her. "But also, sweetheart, if you're going to insist on doing this, I request that I be allowed to put my shirt back on."

She looked up at him in question and dismay.

"It's cold down here, Lizzie," he quipped then, laughing at her good-naturedly and flexing his erection teasingly in her hand, making her smirk.

"I'm sorry," she frowned, focusing. "Stay there."

She leapt nimbly off the side of the bed and quickly found his t-shirt. She snatched it up, along with his boxers, and placed them on the edge of the mattress. Under his watchful gaze, she removed her jeans and socks, turning around and purposefully giving him an eyeful of her ass in her simple black underwear as she bent over to do so.

She turned, caught him staring at her, and grinned joyously. He reached for her, clasped her hand, and pulled her across the mattress back to him. She straddled him once again and leaned in for a quick kiss.

"Sit up," she requested, rising on her knees and reaching for his shirt. He sat up under her and wrapped his arms around her torso, burying his face in her cleavage and inhaling deeply through her t-shirt. She wrapped her arms around him in response, pulling him against her tightly, cradling him in her arms. "Here," she kissed the top of his head, sweetly. "Put your hands up, you bad, bad man," she teased, lowering his shirt down over his arms and head when he complied, laughing beneath her. She smoothed the fabric down, running her hands over his torso. He groaned in appreciation.

"Much better," he sighed, looking up at her, the corners of his eyes crinkling in affection. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she crooned, cupping the back of his head and pulling his mouth to hers for a brief, fierce kiss. When she pulled away, he beamed at her almost drunkenly. She grinned foolishly at him in response, then proceeded to aggressively push his upper body back down against the mattress.

"Lizzie!" he laughed in surprise as he bounced lightly atop the bed.

She giggled and raised an evil eyebrow in response before quickly returning to her pleasurable ministrations, moving back down his body smoothly, taking some time to use her teeth and tongue against the hollow of his hipbone, the inside of his thigh…

His erection pulsed frantically in response, seemingly begging her for attention, and she was happy to respond. She took him into her mouth once more and watched his expression crumble in lust and need. She worked his smooth length over and over again with her mouth and her hands, and savored each delightful sound he made.

He had already cum once today, and now she was going to make him do it again. With a mere twist of her wrist, or a flick of her big blue eyes up to his face—watching him, enjoying him—she was going ruin him. Lizzie, _his Lizzie_ , with _her_ hands—and her _tongue on him_! The reality of it was still too joyous and wonderful to believe. She was so good, so sensuous and hot. She was too good for him. And still, she was his.

"Hey," she released his softening erection and sat up to meet his gaze. "Where'd you go?"

"I'm here," he laughed lightly. "I'm sorry! I'm just…" he trailed off, taking in her appearance. "You're so…" he trailed off again, at a loss for words, utterly unable to convey the surge of love he felt for her or the simultaneous twinge of fear that she would disappear, run from him as fast as she could.

She caught the pleading in his expression and reached for him, climbing half on top of him and wrapping her arms around him as tightly as she could.

"Love you," she hissed in his ear.

"Love you," he muttered hoarsely, gripping her tightly against him.

"Not going anywhere," she hummed. "Stay with me, here?"

"Absolutely," he whispered.

"Good," she grinned and kissed the tip of his nose. "Now cum in my mouth."

"My god!" he chuckled then groaned. She was the perfect mix of perversion and purity, straddling him, kissing him back down the length of his body to press her mouth against the length between his legs. "Sweetheart, I'll cum anywhere you tell me to—your mouth, your chest—anywhere you please!"

She laughed at him and took him into her mouth once more and began to suckle him in earnest, with quick, hard strokes. He groaned and jerked against her, helplessly watching his dick disappear in between her lips—so warm, wet, and tight!—then reappear again with startling speed and sensation.

"Elizabeth," he croaked. "Oh, oh—please don't stop!"

She groaned at his lustful plea, transmitting every arousing vibration into the shaft of his cock as she took him as deeply into her throat as she could manage without gagging or drooling. The sounds he emitted in response made the blood rush between her legs, and she groaned again, focusing the vibration into the head of his shaft. He could only spasm beneath her.

Someone dragged a chair across the floor just above them, and Lizzie paused, wondering momentarily if they were being loud enough to hear above. She glanced up wickedly into Red's face before sucking him deep into her mouth once more, daring him to make a sound.

He moaned and twitched, and just when he thought he was about to come, she pressed the pad of her thumb firmly between his testicles and his anus. For a moment he thought she trying to delay his orgasm and was about to tell her where to press on the base of his shaft—but suddenly a warm wash of pleasure broke over him, and he realized she'd been hunting for his prostate gland.

"Oh! You naughty little…Oh! Lizzie! _Yes!"_ he thrust shallowly against her soft palate, trying unsuccessfully to hold himself back, but when she increased the pressure, sucking him harder, staring up at him knowingly all the while, he exploded into her mouth with an incoherent shout.

She kept her tongue active along his shaft, milking him, encouraging him to unload every last drop of cum and swallowing his salt down with ease. Other men had made this particular act a degrading experience, but he made it easy, made her feel powerful and sexy and confident knowing that her mouth could reduce even the most notorious criminal in the world to a quivering heap.

She released him gently from her mouth as he softened and gently crawled up the length of his body.

He watched her approach, still breathing hard, and immediately cupped the back of her head to pull her in for a kiss once she was close enough. He couldn't taste himself at all in her mouth, she had swallowed his orgasm so completely. The thought of it made his cock twitch again, even as it died between his legs.

"That was so hot!" he burst out as soon as her lips left his, staring at her, his expression awakened. "Oh Lizzie! I can still feel it!" he hissed in ecstasy.

She giggled wildly and fell to his side, covering her face to protect herself from the intensity of his gaze. He rolled towards her and pulled her hands away matter-of-factly.

"You are the sexiest woman I've ever known," he crooned, cupping her face in his hands and gently encouraging her to look at him.

"Oh yeah?" she smirked, pulling him against her affectionately and encouraging him to settle down in her arms. "You think so?"

"I'm not kidding, Lizzie," he groaned against her chest. "I couldn't tell you the name of the last woman who pushed me down on a bed and _made_ me cum like that!" he growled in near frustration and grabbed her, pulling her completely beneath him, fisting the hair at the back of her neck and pulling her mouth to his again for a searing kiss. "Sucked me dry," he muttered, squeezing one of her breasts and dragging his teeth down the delicate skin along the smooth column of her neck. "Sweetheart, it's going to be hours before I can properly fuck you again."

"Mmm, something to look forward to," she sighed and kissed the top of his head. "Let's get under the covers for now."

"Agreed," he muttered, sitting up and grabbing his boxers. He pulled them on while she slid between the sheets in her underwear and shirt. He joined her promptly, and they curled up together easily, as though they'd been doing so for years.

"I love you," she breathed into his chest. "Such a relief to finally be able to say it."

"Oh yes," he sighed. "A relief and a distinct pleasure." He squeezed her and buried his face in her hair. "I love you too, Elizabeth. So much."

They lay together, quietly enjoying the embrace of the other.

"Remember that first day, and you in the box?" Liz murmured eventually.

They smirked at one another, amazed at the difference between then and now.

"You were so beautiful and brave, coming down those stairs to confront me," he reached for her hand, squeezed it and sighed rapturously. "What a sight."

"Mmm, speaking of a sight—the first time I saw you in a tuxedo?" she groaned. "Couldn't even speak, couldn't stop staring at you."

"I noticed," he grinned at her smugly. "I lived on the memory of that look for months. And you—just _exquisite_ in that glorious red dress!" he leaned down and kissed her hand reverently. "Oh Lizzie, what else? What other lovely, secret little moments have you been cherishing?"

"The day you gave me the music box you'd made for me," she smiled up at him shyly. His eyes gleamed. "And then…the night of the King auction," she breathed, and he shuddered reflexively in memory and clutched at her. She trembled and squeezed him hard, thinking about how they'd almost lost each other. "If I hadn't come back…," she made a sound of distress at the thought. He quickly compressed her against his chest as tightly as he could manage without crushing her.

"That was a close one," he grunted. "I'm ashamed of how I berated you after, but I was so relieved, and so terrified to think that you would risk yourself for me like that…"

"I know you were," she murmured reassuringly. "I understood."

" _I care about you_ ," he mocked her girlish voice in her ear. " _Deal with that_!"

They both snickered, shaking together as one. Liz sighed and looked up at him, her expression serious.

"I heard you call out for me, before I shot Yabbari," she studied him intently.

"You did?" he sat up at little and looked down at her, still tucked against his chest.

"Yes…" she hesitated. "I originally thought you knew I was there, I thought you were urging me to take my shot before he took his…but you were shocked to see me," she looked to him for an explanation. "Why would you…?"

"You know why," he smiled down at her a little sadly.

She nodded. "At least, I do now."

They lay together, silently holding one another, each lost in thought. Red suddenly chuckled ruefully.

"What?"

He shook his head at her. "It's just…you really need to stop killing people in my defense," he deadpanned.

"Oh jeez," she groaned in dismay. "That's not even…" she sputtered. "You're making fun of something so—"

"Oh, it's not that I don't find it flattering," he went on in mock reassurance, and Liz smirked helplessly. "It's just that you keep getting _caught_ …" he added nonchalantly.

"Oh, stop," she managed to gasp out between spasms of laughter. "That's terrible! _Red_!" She tried to be disapproving of his poor taste, but was largely unsuccessful.

"I agree," he grinned down at her. "The idea is to _avoid_ getting caught, sweetheart." He tucked a stray wisp of hair behind her ear

Liz sighed and shook her head at him. "Well, so far, so good," she muttered. "We have, what? Another two, three days down here?"

"Yes," he responded, moving his hands through her hair.

"And we still have to get through tonight," she sighed.

"I'm sure we'll entertain ourselves," Red smirked. She laughed and snuggled up against him again.

It wasn't until he suddenly snored indelicately that Liz realized Red was asleep. She carefully separated herself from him, used the bathroom and brushed her teeth. She shut off the few lights they had and climbed back into bed. Red immediately reached for her and tucked her in against him. He was asleep again before she could put her head against her pillow. She smiled in the dark at his antics and joined the man she loved in slumber.


End file.
